Harry Potter and the Potence of Destiny
by ElusiveEvan
Summary: Ship to be understood later on. AU after the end of OotP. Harry waits in Azkaban after a miscarriage of justice by Fudge, and is falling ill. The Order launches their plan to get him free, but complications arise, and Harry isn't happy with Dumbledore.
1. An announcement

Okay, so I must pause here and ask...

Having taken a break and relaxed and matured as writer and person... I feel this story could benefit from a Rework, from the ground up. So starting today... I am rewriting this story. The basic plotline will remain, but things need beefed up, fixed up, cleaned up. Explained.

Please bare with me, I should have a revised prologue within the week.

Evan


	2. Chapter 1: Black Dragon

**Chapter 1: Black Dragon**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own the Harry Potter series or this chapter's namesake.

**A/N:** So for anyone who comes back to this story, I've taken down all the old chapters, and I am off on a very familiar but expanded adventure. I hope you all enjoy the revisions and rewrites. The core of the story will remain the same, and most of it will follow an almost identical path to the old one, but of a higher quality. So let's all take a moment and examine the Potence of Destiny.

**----**

Harry tried to fight off the feeling of rising depression and shame and anger. His hands worked the now familiar duty he was employed to do, and he tried to focus on the mere motion of the fingers as he listened to the voice of the old man beside him. He was acting as what muggles called a Ghost Writer.

He had been home at Privet Drive for less than a week, now and had found within the first day that closed eyes or an idle mind lead back to the veil, back to the gracefully falling form of a gaunt hero. An idle mind lead back to his memories of the end of his school year. That was why he thanked Mr. Kelly at the end of each day for the employment. Focusing on the man's voice and translating it into text put his mind into a relatively calm state. Today was being a hard one, though.

He listened to the elderly man paint a picture of a battlefield, bodies strewn about in various states of dismemberment and death, and it was enough to tear him to shreds. The veteran of the Second World War could speak so calmly of this, describe it in such minute detail without a pause that Harry wondered what this man was made of. Professor Lupin did not speak of the war. Professor Dumbledore did not speak of either war he had participated in, save for delivering a lesson. In his world, the only war veteran who ever spoke of war around him was Mad-Eye Moody, and he wasn't exactly what most blokes would call normal.

"Harry?" Harry had been focused so intently on putting into text what the man was saying that he felt snapped out of a daze when Mr. Kelly spoke his name.

"Yes, Mr. Kelly?" he asked turning. The man was dressed casually enough, not enough to be considered a slob by any means, but surely not what his uncle would call 'proper.' Peppered grey and black hair rested in a thin mass atop his head. His face was drawn with age and a weight that sometimes Harry could almost feel in his presence.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, Mr. Kelly," he lied, in as convincing a voice as he considered possible. There were of course, several things wrong. For one, the acrid smoke of the man's cigars was almost choking him at times, and for another the man was making him think subconsciously of Dumbledore, which set him to feeling uncomfortable. Neither of those began to touch what was truly going on at the forefront of his mind.

"Then please read to me the last line?" Harry responded without puzzlement. Sometimes the man just needed to hear his words spat back to him to know what worked or didn't. Harry's eyes took in the beginning of the paragraph on the glowing computer screen. His hands rested on the keyboard calmly.

"_When I rode east from __Berlin__ to __England__, three Nazis at my side, I met a soldier named Patton who introduced me to a new creation of his, an automatic sword swinging robot._" Harry realized two things at once. While he had been caught being relatively distracted, his employer had just played the first practical joke Harry had ever experienced from him.

"So, Harry, is something wrong?" The man's whole body was strong for a man of eighty, but his voice was the strongest of all. It commanded attention without insisting on it. This was another place where Harry drew the parallel with Albus Dumbledore. When Dumbledore spoke, he commanded attention, but he did not yell like Alastor Moody.

Harry erased the last line, rereading to make sure the line before that had not been farce as well. While he contemplated how to respond, he reached over and seized the glass of water Mr. Kelly had sat down beside the computer for a quick drink. The inviting but cluttered office seemed to hold its breath. There was only one way to answer that question when a muggle asked it. That was through the employment of a half-lie.

"My father and my mother were killed in a war… elsewhere. Years ago. That's why I live with my aunt and uncle. My Godfather was hunted down and killed a few days ago by someone who was on the other side of the same war. I guess I was just focusing on not thinking about it. Everything went in one ear and out through my hands, but it must not have registered very well." He looked back at the man, who was leaned partially forward, gripping the notebook in his hands painfully hard. "Sorry, I'll pay closer attention."

The man nodded, as if to give an answer so he could go back to examining Harry. Almost as if planned, a beep emitted from the man's watch, and he looked down, squinting even with the employment of his glasses—not quite as thick-framed as Harry's but in a similar style—to check the time. The steady click of the clock on the wall drew Harry's eyes to it.

"Seven," they said in unison. This brought forth two very different courses of action on each side. Harry set about tidying up the papers on the desk, wiping down the keyboard and checking for typing errors on the page he was on. Mr. Kelly closed his notebook, grabbed a stack of papers Harry had been tidying up and began to put them away on the shelf beside him, a shelf littered with books on the first two world wars.

"Save it and go home," Mr. Kelly said as he stood up to take his and Harry's drinking glasses out of the room. "But stop by the kitchen first." Harry nodded at the order and went about obeying. As soon as the file was secure, he stood up, stretching. The crick of his back signalled that he much needed to stretch his legs. Harry followed the now familiar route from the upstairs office to the downstairs kitchen, where Mr. Kelly had set a kettle on the stove.

"Where do you go, Harry?" This question was so out of place that he paused in the doorway and leaned against the frame, waiting to understand before stepping any further into the kitchen. When people asked him odd questions, he usually highly regretted being in the same room with them.

"When you leave for the night your eyes glaze over. Your mouth clamps shut, your hands slide into your pockets and you hunch. I've now seen this six times, and before I see it a seventh, I wish to know where it is you go. I've seen this before in the form of a man whom I served with." Mr. Kelly set a plate of biscuits down on the table. "I have seen it in a tired man who once told me his only wish as a reward for fighting was to be able to close his eyes for an hour, so he could cease to be, even for a little while."

Harry took a couple of steps into the kitchen and sat down at one side of the table. He wasn't sure what exactly he was being asked. What did he think about, maybe? Where he went was plain to him, he went to Number Four Privet Drive. He went to his bedroom and pretended to have eaten dinner already, something not questioned by the Dursleys. He went to sleep and had nightmares.

What _did _he think about during those trips home? There were really only two places his mind went on those trips. Two places he was unable to keep from revisiting every night, throughout most of the night. And of those, he could only really tell the man a bit about even one.

"I go to a graveyard," he finally settled on answering. "It's cold there. I can see the man who killed my parents. I've met him, you know? He kidnapped me a year or so ago. But even before that… I found _him_ twice. But a year ago, he brought me to the graveyard. There was a gathering of his old guard, those still loyal. Not the soldiers he once had, but the inner circle. It was so much luck that I survived, that I got away from him. Everyone thinks I did some amazing thing. I could only run." Harry looked up at Mr. Kelly. "If I told you that telling you anything else was dangerous to you, would you believe me?"

"Yes," the man muttered. "Whatever you are, you're not like any modern teenager I've encountered." He paused. "The man I spoke of before, he told me the same thing once. That telling me anything about him would be dangerous for me. I met his son once, this man. Quite a strange name the boy had… something from Roman mythology. A gaunt lad, but he seemed to carry his father's sadness, and he was covered in cuts and bruises, as if he fought his own war." Harry nodded appreciatively.

"I never heard from my war buddy after the day I met his boy. We had officially retired, you see, and our squad decided we would go out in style. By this time, the boy was nearly grown, and we were old men. I went to my friend and comrade, and I said to him, "John, what are you?"" The man paused as the tea kettle began to whistle. "He said to me," Mr. Kelly continued. "'I told you once, and I'll tell you again, you just can't know.'" The man set the kettle back down on a different part of the stove. "He died a few weeks later, and his wife and son buried him. After that, I know nothing."

Harry frowned at the story. What type of resolution was that? A death and unanswered questions seemed to go hand in hand.

"There's always more questions than answers when someone dies," Harry muttered bitterly, looking down at his hands on the table.

"Go on home," Mr. Kelly finally said. "An old man's ramblings are for another day. I'll see you tomorrow, Harry."

~PoD~

Harry felt the cool air around him. His feet stepped on pavement, but he saw earth. Houses lined the road he walked on, but he saw tombstones and statues. It was as he had told his employer. Sometimes he went to the graveyard. Harry shook his head, and allowed the proper sight of Privet Drive to fill his eyes as he rounded the corner. Though he walked in relative silence, he knew something was wrong.

There was far too _much_ silence. The sound of televisions should be coming from open windows on a summer evening. He should hear laughter from the family next to Number Four. He should, he realized as he stepped onto the doorstep of the Dursleys' house, hear Vernon's booming voice even from there. Instead he heard nothing but the rustle of grass behind him on this windless night. _Windless. _

Harry spun around on instinct, wand coming from his pocket without a second of hesitation. As he spun he saw just barely a strange shift in the air, like heat rising from hot pavement. It was coming, however, from the perfectly manicured front lawn of his relatives' house. _Disillusionment charm. _

When the first charm flew, Harry felt his blood rush. When it connected, he hurt throughout his whole arm. He ducked low to retrieve his wand, using his other arm as his right seemed to hate the thought of moving an inch. By the time that he rose, disillusionments had been removed, and Harry knew he was surrounded. As the pain passed from his right arm, he switched his wand back to the proper hand and readied himself.

This was how it was going to end, then? And what of this blasted blood protection Dumbledore liked to babble about? A lot of good it was doing him now.

Harry spun to avoid a spell which blew the Dursley's door of its hinges, and cast the spell he'd been reading about the night prior.

"_Humo!_" The dirt rose from the ground around one of the men and encircled him, pulling him down to a burial. This was magic most commonly used to make the process of burials easier, but had seen some use in the war against Grindelwald as an offensive technique. The problem was that it left one very open. Harry Potter turned back to the remaining group of Death Eaters with a grim sense of satisfaction. He could only hope the man had issues digging himself out. That's when the next spell came at him, and Harry was once again resigned to fighting for his life.


	3. Chapter 2: Kryptonite

**Chapter 2: Kryptonite**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Harry Potter series or this chapter's namesake.

A/N: This should look more familiar to fans of the original. Though, this is a partial rewrite, partial revision of two chapters that are now one.

---

The chipped and cold stone dug into his back, bringing fresh scratches as he writhed about. Dimly aware, he simultaneously writhed in torment as his right hand traced words scratched into the wall. At one point he'd known what they were, but that was long ago. The spilled water goblet rested beside his head as the pain forced him to continue movement. They were hungry. The moonlight fell through the open window, playing a line of light across the hole full of refuse, and then down the floor, across his stomach and chest.

He continued tracing the words with his right hand until he saw that there were words scarred onto it too, just like on the wall. They were different though, elegant and terrifying, painful. He gasped the first clear breath in several minutes as the icy cold fled from the room. Blood was seeping slowly from several cuts across his back and his right hand was back to calmly tracing the words carved into the wall. It was dark but for the small line of moonlight.

Then the cold came back reinforced. His back arched off the stone floor as unbidden came the meaning of the scratches on the wall to his mind. _I've walked the void holding an antler and a rat. _He could feel the sweat on his body icing over, and it was without true understanding of anything but fear that he screamed. A voice chuckled from somewhere to his right, but no one was there. He writhed on his side, a scratching his face on the stone floor. Then the cold closed over him like a coffin. _A coffin,_ his mind told him. He fell from simultaneous fever and cold into fog, screaming.

"Not HARRY," he screamed at the top of his lungs. "NO!"

The Dementors passed by his cell and then held at the wall between his and the laughing man to his right. Harry seized something between an instinct and a thought and ran for the cot in the corner of the room. A paper thin pillow lay at the top. He held it over his face, trying to strangle, suffocate the pain and cold. The fabric dug at his raw face even as he screamed into it, his legs thrashing against the wild inside of him. It was a monster who bit at his stomach and kicked at his lungs.

The cold intensified even more, and he moved the pillow long enough to gasp, and it felt like sucking in a hard cold breath on the coldest winter day. A rasping cough erupted from his lungs, his whole body shook and lunged. The cot upset itself, and Harry again felt only cold stone beneath his face. And he screamed.

And then, very suddenly, Harry _was _again.

He was aware that he was face down on the stone ground, his cot atop him. The pillow was wedged under his chest, though it was hardly noticeable in thickness. He was aware again, that he was hurting nearly all over. He could remember darkness, convulsions, screaming. He remembered fog, and he remembered his mother's voice. He remembered Dementors. Harry lay there on the floor beneath his cot, shuddering and swearing, his throat raw and most muscles in his body sore.

He had to think. He had to feel something. The first thing to come to his mind was not fear or sadness but anger. Clenching his eyes shut, he traced the source of the anger. The eyes shot open as a face formed in his mind. He screamed again, this time in pain as he tried to get up. He felt so damned weak. Collapsing back to the floor, Harry only snarled.

To say that he hated Cornelius Fudge was not enough. It was not down to one man to decide what was wrong and what was right. How had he done it? How had Fudge taken such control over everything. Harry had no idea. Dumbledore had tried to tell him, three days ago? Two days ago? Two years?

Harry leaned up and pulled the pillow out from under his chest, placing it under his head so that the raw cheek didn't press against stone but against fabric. Then he closed his eyes and shifted his right leg, dragging a bare foot against the stone beneath him.

A whisper escaped his lips, bone chilling in its meaning and all implications. It was a single word which had the power to strike fear into every English Wizard alive today, even if just a small bit of fear. It was a word that made a big friend of his shudder and close up mentally… it was a word Harry hated saying.

"Azkaban," Harry muttered, pained. That was it. He was in Azkaban prison.

Dumbledore stood a man confused for the first time since Harry had known him. As they prepared to lead him away Harry had been allowed one "Final" talk with his Headmaster, during which several things had been revealed to him. Harry didn't understand most of it, but it boiled down to this: somehow Dumbledore had been removed from his spot at the head of the Wizengamot _again_, and when most of the members of the court had rebelled against the decision, Fudge had—with no more than a vague wave of his hand—disbanded the longest ruling council of Magical England. Harry also knew this: _no one_ was happy about it. Fudge's continued existence came only because of a sect of loyal bureaucrats.

The next piece of the puzzle was the attack on Number Four. It had been perfect. Harry remembered vaguely the shards of a farce of a trial. There had been Fudge and Umbridge in a dark room, and Percy Weasley beside them, a scroll of paper on the table in front of him, his eyes never leaving it. They believed he'd gone willy-nilly casting curses. They claimed he had been attempting to intimidate his family and it had gone wrong, and that he had stunned them in an attempt to escape punishment.

The aurors had arrived even as the last of the Death Eaters were gone. They had found Harry, not too badly injured but exhausted on his doorstep. Every house on the street, he'd been told, had been full of Stunned muggles. This dangerous behavior of doing underage magic was only made all the worse by his blatant muggle abuse. Declaring him unfit to be a member of the wizarding world, they'd taken his wand for use at his _trial_ and later destruction. He was expelled from Hogwarts and to spend the next thirty years in Azkaban. When released, he would never be allowed to own a wand and would need to register with the Ministry and apprise them of his movements.

Later, when he could finally move, Harry sat, huddled in one corner of the room. He heard the sound of screams, far off in the distance. The Dementors had left his cell to go and feed off of others. People were crying out in anguish, mental or physical and sometimes both. As for Harry, he almost missed the days when the Dementors would merely call up the sounds of the last night of Lily and James Potter.

"Azkaban," he groaned again. He leaned his head against the wall and listened to the man in the cell beside his laugh as if everything in the world was so damned funny. A fevered sleep claimed him for a period of time undeterminable. When he woke he knew something seemed very different about his little cell. Harry put his finger on it by slowly testing each of his senses.

Instead of the smell of his own waste in the bucket in the corner—charmed to empty itself once a day—was the smell of food. Food was something he absolutely could not pass up in this place, though it was neither as good as the food at Hogwarts, or as copious as the amounts the Dursleys used to allow him as a child on those days when he wasn't being punished with no food. Harry climbed slowly to his feet. Raw and sore, they shuffled over the stone floor to the area right beside the cell door. He looked down at the plate and water goblet and picked them up without hesitation.

Cold, tired, he fell back into a sitting position at the half-way point in that wall, directly beside the end of a sentence scratched into the wall by a desperate, angry man.

_I've walked the void, holding a rat and an antler._

Some times, when Harry found himself strong enough, he wondered about that sentence. This was not one of those times. Right now he wondered about how long it would be before his next meal.

~PoD~

The ever impressive form of the nearly ancient Albus Dumbledore stood up at the head of the table, raising his hand for silence and calm. The Order meeting was in chaos at this moment as Bill and Charlie Weasley physically strong-armed the younger Weasley brothers away from Professor Snape. Severus, for his part, was trying to aim his wand over one Weasley's shoulder at another, though Dumbledore thought it barely mattered to him what Weasley felt the brunt of his anger.

"Piss off," Fred Weasley roared. "Let me at him Bill, I promise I'll make my ejection from the Order _worth_ it."

"Let us go," George agreed, slamming an elbow into the side of Charlie's head in an attempt to get at Snape.

"Everyone, calm down," Dumbledore said softly. Almost as soon as he had said it, Fred bowled over his eldest brother and was moving toward Snape, wand drawn. Severus already had his wand back preparing to curse Fred, even as George verbally lambasted him.

"You bloody git, you greasy, slimy..."

"SILENCE!"

The room froze—that is, those who weren't already frozen watching the display—including Snape and Fred. "Now, Severus, I warn you, one more word against Harry will result in your removal from this meeting, Misters Weasley, if you disrupt this meeting again, you too will be removed from it. Now, all of you will SIT! We haven't got time for this asinine dissention." The commanding tone in his voice was enough that all present, even the angry Snape finally acquiesced his request.

Grimmauld Place's kitchen finally fell back into relatively calm silence. Dumbledore paused, taking a moment to take a look around the room. Severus, to his credit, was immediately rapt with attention though cleaning the blood from his face. Mundungus Fletcher feigned his disinterest at the situation and pretended to be reading over a paper in front of him. Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt sat beside each other, opposite of Remus Lupin and Arthur Weasley, each of whom were attempting with some success to look serene and ignorant of the scene that had just taken place. This was more than could be said for Molly Weasley who couldn't decide if she wished to glare at her children or at Severus.

"Many of you have not only been out of the country for the past week, most of you have just returned this late hour, so I must begin this meeting properly by filling you in." Dumbledore finally sat down himself, sighing softly as his legs groaned in protest. Smoothing his beard he contemplated for a moment before deciding on straightforwardness as a tactic for his next statement. "Harry Potter is in Azkaban prison."

That was how Dumbledore silenced the mutterings of each and every member of the Order who had amassed. For a moment, only a silence reigned over the whole house as shock settled on everyone in it. It was perhaps the most quiet the house had been since the Order had gathered to fight in Harry's defence at the Ministry of Magic. There came the sound of the stairs outside being rushed down, and Albus' eyes slid to the kitchen doors pre-emptively.

The silence was shattered more effectively than any glass or mirror could ever be. Shattering is actually a very tame way to put what happened. The doors to the kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place burst open as if a strong gust of wind had hit them, and two redheads and a brunette swarmed the room.

"**_WHAT?" _**

Though half of the Order had reacted by drawing their wands, Dumbledore and Snape moved not an inch. Albus stared in silence at the new arrivals for a couple of moments, as Severus tried to pretend that they didn't exist. Dumbledore gave a somewhat mischievous smile and then spoke; "It seems, in the rush of calling you all here, I had forgotten to put the necessary protections on the doors. So be it, sit down, you may listen to this meeting as it effects you all." Not one to go quietly in this situation, Ron grumbled, prompting Hermione to speak out of turn.

"Why is Harry in Azkaban?" she asked in a mixture of shock and distress that not many had seen from the teenager.

"Granger," snapped Severus, suddenly alive with indignation, "be silent here, you hold no right to words within this meeting." The twins tensed up, as did Ronald Weasley, so that Dumbledore knew it best to diffuse the situation immediately.

"**_Be quiet,_**" Dumbledore snapped, turning his gaze momentarily on Snape. No time to placate anyone. They had to act fast or everything could crash. Dumbledore squashed a fidgety feeling down. Plans made must be kept, needs must.

"As I was saying, Harry Potter now sits in the prison of Azkaban. The day of the battle at the Ministry was supposed to be the end of the Minister of Magic's work against me. I had left the Ministry believing as much, but was proven sorely wrong. As soon as he had the room to himself, Minister Fudge passed several laws and edicts.

"As of five minutes after I left the room, he had disbanded the Wizengamot, claiming that they would be a liability here in a time of war. He has declared the Wizarding World to be at war, giving him all the powers of a Wartime Minister. He has chosen to abuse those powers. This has naturally ruined his reputation. Minister Fudge has just effectively put himself singularly in control of the government. With this amount of power, Minister Fudge has created himself a problem. He is in effect, a dictator. There is no one to check or keep him within his limits, and he is free to stretch his power over Magical England.

"He did just that three days ago now. Harry was," Albus Dumbledore paused, closed his eyes, and sighed in a show of weakness that none in the Order had ever seen from him. "Unfortunately attacked outside of his aunt and uncle's house. From what I was able to extract from his tightly sealed lips, it was a group of Death Eaters. I am still investigating how they managed to reach him there, when there should have been many protections to stop this."

"What happened, Albus?" Minerva McGonagall asked, suddenly alive as she hadn't been since she arrived at Grimmauld Place. "Why hasn't the Prophet reported this?" _Ah, Minverva, _Dumbledore thought, _the voice of reason. If only reason worked with these people!_

"I do not know why it has not been reported, however, this is what I know. Harry fought off the Death Eaters as best he could, but briefly before the Ministry arrived on the scene, they departed. The Minister, choosing—like the year prior—not to believe in Harry's innocence in the matter was the Judge… the Jury… and in this case, the Incarcerator. He has sentenced Harry to thirty years in prison, and removed his wand from him."

Ron looked at his sister and then at Hermione seeing that they shared the same sense of shock and disbelief. He felt struck dumb. Harry being imprisoned was flat unthinkable, utterly ludicrous. Harry had delayed Voldemort's return to power. Harry had duelled Voldemort. Harry had saved Ginny's life and stopped the attacks on Hogwarts. He'd had done all of this good at the expense of his own innocence. He had done all this and in return gotten nightmares, sleepless nights, insults and smear campaigns and now he was imprisoned.

"There is more," the room waited with baited breath. Hermione was no longer sitting. She was pacing. The room didn't seem to care either, though Ron took her vacated seat and waited for the mutter to die down around the table. He clenched the edge so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"He is being held in a high security cell, and there is not a prisoner around him who was not a Death Eater or muggle killer. I've seen his block. Lucius Malfoy is on his right, Dolohov is on his left, and he is…" There was a pause, in which Dumbledore wondered if he was divulging too much. _I must not hold this back, because if he realizes this, he may need some guidance, some counselling. _"Harry is currently being held in the same cell which once housed his Godfather."

Hermione made an affronted noise and crossed her arms across her chest, stopping in her pacing to turn to the table. Her face was alive with the ferociousness of a lion.

"It was only thanks to a slight of hand and perhaps some contacts, that I managed to rescue his wand from being destroyed, and it is now safely in my hands and will be entrusted to someone trustworthy while we await his release." To emphasize this, Dumbledore brought out Harry's wand and tossed it toward Ron, who caught it with the ease he would've expected from a seeker and not a keeper. Ron examined it with satisfaction as Ginny spoke.

"Release?" Ron looked up, satisfied that this was his best friend's wand he was holding. Ron pocketed it.

"Surely you do not expect me to leave Harry in Azkaban and Minister Fudge in power?" Dumbledore asked, sounding vaguely amused. "As such, I want to begin by making things thoroughly miserable for our dear beloved Minister. Any ideas?" The twins raised their hands. "Any idea not constituting bodily harm to the Minister—" Fred's hand dropped, "_or _my potion's master?" George's hand dropped.

"I have an idea," Hermione said, more fiercely than might have been expected of her, her eyes alive.

"Speak up, Ms. Granger," McGonagall said, kindly. "What is your idea?"

"We could… organize a protest." she said as she turned to match eyes with McGonagall. "Or if the twins can help us out…." The room from then on would swear that for the first time in history a truly devious, Weasley-ish look came to her face as she drew a breath and said; "a riot."

In the moment of shocked silence that followed, Bill Weasley spoke up. "Ron, this one's a keeper, get on with it."

~PoD~

For Harry, the rest of the day passed slowly. For some reason two or three Dementors had been placed at the end of the hall he was in, and they seemed to be very, very hungry Dementors who were intent on making rounds frequently. For his part, Harry did his best not to let the cold bother him now that he had regained control of himself. He laid there on his cot, breathing deeply, trying hard to clear his mind and failing just as much as he ever had.

His surprising reprieve from delirium had proved to be a double edged sword. Every time he tried to clear his mind their faces invaded. Cedric, Sirius, his parents, they all haunted his thoughts. It didn't help any that every hour or so the sheer injustice and fear of his current situation imposed itself on his thoughts and he found himself striking out at the wall of the cell with his left hand.

Sometimes the anger was directed at Voldemort. Sometimes it was directed at Remus for holding him back that day at the Ministry and other times it was at Cornelius Fudge. But more often than not, he envisioned the face of his headmaster. Albus-bloody-infuriating-Dumbledore could do anything. Anything, it seems, but keep his "Chosen One" out of prison for defending himself. Harry wondered, somewhere in the back of his mind, if he was being purposefully left there, like a piece of meat left in the icebox until it could be reheated.

Harry wondered too, what Dumbledore would do if he saw what Harry was now. The strange fever dreams, delirium, the pain, the writhing. Sometimes the sound of the wing's door opening to admit Dementors could send him to the corner of his cell raving. He wasn't sure he'd lost his mind, but he wasn't sure he was entirely sane. That was just one more piece of the puzzle.

Harry didn't think it mattered. He had a purpose to serve and at least if he was here, Dumbledore knew where he was. It wasn't the first time Dumbledore had kept him imprisoned somewhere. He knew he shouldn't feel this way or be so suspicious of his Headmaster.

But sometimes he did. Sometimes he was.


	4. Chapter 3: Black Hole Sun

**Chapter 3: Black Hole Sun**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Harry Potter series, or this chapter's namesake.

---

Harry woke the next morning in a vague daze, yet he instantly knew something _new_ was wrong. He couldn't quite place it, but he felt somehow worse than the last time he'd been aware. Slowly as his mind readjusted to waking life of Azkaban he noticed small things. His body felt heavier, as if all of his muscles were no longer enough to move comfortably, and there was a small pain at the base of his neck. Furthermore, he was… warm. Somehow, even with the symptoms of a fever, he'd never been completely convinced he'd had one until then. Warmth in the natural cold of Azkaban is one thing, the cold of Dementors is another.

He was, of course, far more interested in what had woken him up than what he felt like. The presence of the Dementors was fading fast. _(Saner?) _A sound resonating from the end of his cell block told him he was far from alone. It almost sounded like footsteps. Maybe. Step. Clunk. Step. Clunk.

Was he insane? Harry thought he recognized that sound pattern, but didn't know how. And then _he_ turned the corner. Alastor Mad-Eye Moody was examining him with the first worry Harry had seen thrown his way since he'd last spoken to Mr. Kelly _(Who?)_ Unbidden to his mind came the words of a muggle poet Hermione loved, in Hermione's voice which always grew soft when reading poetry aloud.

**_My first thought was, he lied in every word,_**

**_That hoary cripple, with malicious eye_**

Harry shook his head hard, and winced as he received a bolt of pain for the effort.

"Professor?" he rasped, licking his cracked lips and tasting blood.

"Alright Potter, how are you?" His magical eye was examining Harry and his cell. Harry saw it slide over his cot.

_Angry, in pain, tired, and I want to kill Fudge. Maim Dumbledore. _

"I don't know," he said, managing to voice none of his thoughts but still speak truth. .

"Yeh, well, we're working on it, Potter. Your friend Granger and Albus are about to set to work today. Their plan is to make the Minister look even worse than he already does. The best way is through you." Harry leaned his forehead against the cold bars, thinking he still had a fever, but he tried to make it seem as if he was just interested.

"How?" His voice came at a ragged whisper. He'd been screaming himself hoarse for what might have been five days now. The rags that were the standard issue pants were torn and nasty on him when he first put them on. Azkaban prison was not up to muggle prison standards. In the muggle world it'd almost be a war crime to keep a prisoner of war in these conditions.

"They're going to organize a protest, and if the Weasley children have their way, it _will_ be a riot. They'll swarm Azkaban Isle and begin protesting, and as one of the terms of the negotiation I'll pretend to be conducting, the two youngest Weasleys and Granger will come to see you and bring you a gift." The man pulled back from the bars as the doors down at the other end of the hall opened up and footsteps were audible. "It's best if you act **_very_** angry."

"Alastor," called the voice. Harry's spine shivered and he suddenly decided to take the man's advice. Moody wanted angry? That was more than fine with Harry, because it was coming out no matter what Moody said.

When Cornelius Fudge came within his sight, Harry Potter very much almost spat every insult he knew at the man. Instead he settled for saliva, but found his mouth too dry to do that. "Mr. Potter, how are you today?" the Minister asked, pleasantly. The amiable tone in his voice reminded him forcefully of the man's senior undersecretary, and this brought him out completely, anger and all. He slammed against the bars so that his eyes were as close to Fudge's as possible.

"I've just had a lovely stay in Azkaban, having your poorly controlled Dementors suck out my soul piece by piece, and how are you _mien Fuehrer_?" Despite Moody silencing him a second later, Harry's hearing and sight were still keen. Admittedly he was squinting without his glasses, but he could still see the outline of his minister, frozen, framed against the empty cell opposite of him.

"_Silencio,"_ Moody called, waving his wand lazily. "I'm sorry for the prisoner's lack of respect, Minister."

"Never mind, Alastor," Fudge's voice was stiff, but self absorbed nonetheless. "I imagine he just feels _lonely_. Perhaps I'll station another guard at the end of the hall." Moody raised the silencing charm and acted as if to walk away. This was a maneuver taken by Harry as allowing him to have at Fudge once again, and he planned to hit home.

"Tell me," Harry snarled. "What are you hoping to gain?"

"Excuse me, Mr. Potter?"

"You've done your best for years to have me under control, and later imprisoned wrongfully. Why? Why are you doing all of this? Do you think that helping Voldemort will make him spare your life?" Harry gave a barking laugh.

"Potter," Moody growled, turning on him with true anger in his good eye, written across his warrior's face, and etched into his very stance. His wand was gripped tightly in his hand. Harry knew that he had to follow up with a good, healthy dose of the reality the Minister had suspended himself from.

Harry pushed against the bars more tightly, showing a feral grin at the look on Fudge's face. One hand reached through the bars to point at Fudge. The other made a chopping motion through the air.

"He'll kill you just like he'll kill me and everyone I care about. I just hope I see you at the chopping block first you barmy old cod-"

"**_Silencio!" _** Again, Moody seemed genuinely angry. Without a word he motioned Fudge away, leaving Harry trapped under the spell until they exited the cell block. The moment it lifted he pulled himself up to full height.

"Bloody arse!"

In the cell to his right someone began laughing, a familiar and cold laugh. He could almost see the man's too bright blonde hair. He could almost smell the man's cologne. He could almost feel the man's insane devotion to Voldemort.

"Potter, you're quite adept at keeping me awake."

And this was how Harry discovered he was quite near indeed to Lucius Malfoy.

~PoD~

Harry woke up and instantly regretted doing anything of the sort. He was under attack, and there was no fighting them off. His cell door was open. He was aware, as one must imagine some half dead animal would be aware. All he could see was black and fog. Black and fog. He knew he was seeing his cell block. Dementors were filling it, almost as if every Dementor in the prison had come to visit him.

His mind would later tell him about how he felt his nasty, matted hair ice over. It would tell him about the sound of Lucius Malfoy screaming in pain in time with most of the cell block. His mind would later recount certain things about that time. In the there and then, though, Harry was nothing more than a snack for a sea of black cloaks. He was lost in a cold and unending winter.

He felt hands on his face and chest and legs and feet, his arms and his hands and his shoulders. None of them felt human. None of them felt remotely human, remotely kind or living. He was being touched by the dead, his mind told him, he was being held, cradled, pulled down by the dead. There would be earth next… and then it came. It was cold, more cold than anything he'd ever felt before. The black shifted, around him. He could see a gaping maw, rotted teeth within. _It's the planet swallowing me up._

The hand on his throat was not squeezing, but somehow it was worse than if it was squeezing. These floating ethereal things had no real weight atop him, but real grasp. He could hear the screaming of the block, but something else dominated his ears. _I can hear a waterfall, _he thought. _It's got to be so big. _

Finally, something clicked within him as a finger ran across the back of his right hand. His eyes widened, and his head cleared as it had not in so long. Harry began to scream as he realized this was it. The Dementors swarming him would suck out his very soul and leave him a shivering, gibbering mass. Something made him think he should have a name to scream out, as a last word. There was no name that came to mind. He had nothing left but regret. All he could see was Sirius' face, surprised, vulnerable. _No waterfall, _he thought. _It's the sound of the end. _

It was at that point that blood first spewed from his mouth in a hacking cough. Retracting in seeming curiosity, the gaping mouth closed. Harry lunged and ran. He knew that the door to his cell was open. He knew that he was terrified. He knew that he was near having his soul removed.

The Dementors in his cell drew together to defend the door and he leapt to the ground, falling under them. A scream of a human voice at the end of the hallway alerted him. From behind closed stone doors with small slits in them, he saw human eyes. The slits suddenly lit up as the door was forced open.

Harry stood in shock as bright white light shot into the cell block. The Dementors were giving screeches that drove him to shaking and screaming again. He saw red amongst the patronus charm and knew that a stunning spell was coming for him. But he was mercifully warm. He was weak. He was sick. The waterfall was gone, though. Harry let the red hit him as the white washed amongst him.

~PoD~

Neville's summer had been the best ever. His fight at the Ministry had left him a hero within the family, and relatives who had only looked once or twice at him were suddenly hailing him "his parents' son." This made him feel as if he truly was something and not just the silly, useless boy that Professor Snape frequently deemed him to be.

As the snowy white owl came to him, Neville was about to find that it was more than just a feeling. Harry's owl, Neville remembered, Hedwig. Hedwig fluttered in through the window, and his gran looked curiously at the bird. "Whose is that?"

"It's Harry Potter's." Neville opened the letter when he retrieved it from the bird that was laden with many letters. "But this isn't Harry's handwriting...." As Neville read, his mouth dropped open.

~PoD~

Remus Lupin watched as the last flock of owls departed from the post office in Hogsmeade. It had cost the Order a pretty penny, but they now had enough owls out to deliver their message. As for him, he would return to the sidelines where he now belonged. Beaten. Defeated. Tired. Alone.

Never to be what he could have been, or with whom he could have been once again.

Remus returned to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, where he would sleep, wake and eat, kept company by only his grief and the memory of its three causes.

~PoD~

Luna Lovegood did not keep herself cut off from the Wizarding World; it kept itself cut off from her. This was her stance on it. This stance thusly led to a small amount of shock as a snowy white owl fluttered into her bedroom window as she lay in bed, trying to sleep. The bird looked exhausted and had several letters tied to its leg. She looked through them until she found the one with her name on it and took it.

The owl did not wait before taking off. Luna opened the letter and lie back on the bed, curling up beneath her blanket as she read by the light of the moon, mouthing the words in shock. _Harry Potter is in Azkaban._

~PoD~

Fred and George Weasley finished their respective glasses of mead, reclining with their feet on the table of their flat. When they'd finished, George reached across and refilled each glass. "To Harry Potter, to Hermione Granger and the Order of the Phoenix," Fred suggested.

"Aye, that," George agreed, clinking the glasses together and taking a sip. "And to tomorrow!"

~PoD~

All over the country Hogwarts students from Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor began receiving letters, all signed from one of three people and mass produced with a copying spell.

For a few of them they held no interest in going or could not go.

For the rest of them, they **_would _**rise to the challenge.


	5. Chapter 4: Riot

**Chapter 4: Riot**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Harry Potter series, or this chapter's namesake.

---

Let it never be said that Alastor Moody was a liar.

Fred and George Weasley had replicated three letters multiple times. One was written by Hermione Granger, appealing to the bulk of Ravenclaw, one by Ronald Weasley which went to many Gryffindors, and a third by Ginny Weasley whose was mailed to the bulk of Hufflepuff. With the help of the Order's funds, the twins and Remus had bought the services of sixty birds for a day, each of them delivering three letters. For their part, the twins spent the rest of the night planning, plotting, drinking and finally catching one hour of fitful sleep. The next morning was a shock for everyone involved in the organization of what would be remembered as the Azkaban Protest.

Of the roughly one hundred and eighty letters sent out, one hundred and sixty five of them had been piled up in the middle of Diagon Alley outside of the twin's shop. Their owners—as per the letter were covered in a white hooded cloak with their faces hidden—waited in a street-filling mass. Several of the children called on by the letters had brought along their families, sometimes extended families. The whole of Diagon Alley was beginning to get **very **full of white hooded figures. The twins didn't mind. Hidden under Moody's Invisibility Cloaks, they began magicking a series of small, illegal and completely untraceable portkeys into a trash bin outside their shop. They were great, the best out there at getting away with anything, but not even they could have done this if the whole Ministry wasn't rebelling against Fudge.

The fact that every member from the Department of Transportation was on their side was only further proof that Fudge needed shutdown and quickly. From where he and his brother stood hidden, Fred called out, "Everyone, take one of the rings from the bin over there, they'll send you to the first gathering point."

~PoD~

Ron Weasley wasn't good at remembering spells, spell theory, dates of Goblin Rebellions, or at being quick on his feet and dodging spells. There was one thing however, that he WAS good at. If he had all the necessary information handed to him or at least laid out plainly, he could be a strategist that would make Hermione herself envious and his elder brothers immensely proud. That was why Ron stood on the edge of the island by himself when the first of the portkeys began bringing their owners.

It gave him the willies to be on Azkaban Isle, a place renowned for evil and steeped in mystery and myth in the Wizarding World, a place he had had nightmares about once or twice in his life. He knew he couldn't let that affect him, Dementors or no, because his best mate was stuck in there and he was going to visit him soon. With him he would bring his sister, his other best mate, and a little something for Harry James Potter. The arrivals came in blurs of white, fading into existence as approximately five-hundred wizards clad in pure white and hidden portkeyed in.

He watched as they began arriving, like a giant heat shimmer that suddenly grew bright and tangible, solid. They were bizarre vortexes of spinning white light spewing out men and women and children that seemed to drain the colour from the portals depositing them. At least that's how it looked. Ron knew that it was nothing so dramatic, but visually it was stunning, it was energizing. It made him feel a thousand times more determined.

When many of them had gotten a look at his face, he raised his own hood. Four people emerged from the crowd. Two of them were the same height and definitely male. He knew who this was by that fact alone. Fred, George, Ginny and Hermione made their way toward him, and he held a hand up in recognition. Ron hunkered down on his haunches and waited for the other four, wand already drawing a plan in the dust of the island floor. The sound of portkeys dropping off people persisted for twenty minutes before a shower of gold sparks shot off amidst the crowd and Ron called off the strategy meeting. Who was he to ignore the signal he himself had asked the man to set off?

~PoD~

The pain in his head felt a bit worse this morning, but it was still not the worst headache he had ever endured. He felt as if he was being weighed down by a thousand grabbing hands he couldn't see. Each time he inhaled, he was surer and surer he could hear a rattling coming from his chest. He could feel it in his lungs.

_The Death Rattle. _

Every candle in the cell block seemed to have gone out; there was no light anywhere but the light from one of the single tiny windows in each cell along the outside wall. It was the pale light of _very _early morning. It was the same light they always got on Azkaban Isle. His right hand gripped experimentally, and he found with some worry that not only did it take a scary amount of effort to accomplish such a gesture, it left him very tired. He couldn't sit up, and he could barely move his neck. Something was very wrong.

All of a sudden, he could feel himself slipping at an incredible pace toward sleep. Everything began darkening and mercifully warming up. Peace slowly came to stroke and tame the gathering terror, scattering it to the four winds. The cot suddenly felt eerily like Fred Weasley's old bed at the burrow, where he'd slept more than once when staying with Ron. It was insanely comfortable, and he tried to smile at the sensation, but it just felt wrong. He felt his stomach flip.

Harry's magic had begun pouring from him, and he could **_feel _**it. He'd never felt his magic leave him before, but there it was. Then, in the blink of an eye, he could see it. In the centre of a strange dark ring around his vision was a greyish, yellowish colour that poured from his body, and it had taken the shape of his torso with arms and a head, and was sitting half up, leading strings back to his actual body. The phantom of his body seemed to be at a strange, crooked angle. Actually, the whole room was. He wondered if this meant his magic was trying to pull him into an upright position.

He didn't like not being able to move, and he didn't like this new development. The magic changed then, staying the same colour, but suddenly spreading out, surrounding his whole body like a cocoon. Harry certainly didn't like _this_ anymore than the last development_. _His eyes slowly drifted shut of their own accord. As people lined up outside to call for his release, Harry Potter passed into a deep coma, one phrase on his lips.

"Just get up."

~~PoD~~

Ron was the one in charge here. For the first time in his life he wasn't being lead by Harry or Hermione or his brothers. This was his job to coordinate, his job to control, his mission to accomplish or fail. This was something that just was completely _his_. When you had as many siblings as Ron did, you damn well knew the value of that. This was his, and he couldn't let it be a waste. Ron was planning with no idea that his friend was not conscious at this moment.

The redhead reached into his pocket and fingered the gift he had for Harry, contemplating the number of things Harry could do to help himself if he had control of his wand once again. A break out of Azkaban. Only twice in the history of the place had this ever been accomplished; once last year, through means unknown, and again two years before that, by Harry's godfather, Sirius. If anyone could get out of there, it would be Harry. The vast procession of Wizards and Witches nearing five hundred people made their way from the point, to the main path of the island. The first guard booth was—as Ron had been told it would be—empty. It was quickly crushed under the force of a battery of spells, ruined and left as rubble.

The second was treated the same. No human guards stood on duty today, because some shadowy high-ranking official had commanded the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to keep people off the premises. None of them argued, time off was good. Especially considering a lot of the human Azkaban guards were now wearing white and marching up the path to the prison, in tow of their children. This absence of humans lead to all of the guard booths being empty. Any empty structure in their path was reduced to rubble. It was a key pat of their plan. Let the Minister see a path of destruction leading right to the prison. Let him know that they were there.

They got to the main gate in front of the building and found it quite closed off. Dementors kept them from moving too close to the gate, but it didn't stop them from putting their plan into fruition. Ron raised his wand to his throat and amplified his voice as he had been taught by Hermione, and gave a yell. "Contact your Minister! Tell him we will not move from this spot until our demands have been met!" From his position under his own cloak, Moody had to agree that Ronald Weasley had the voice of a commander. It was

Dementors, being a race of being incapable of spoken speech, merely sat in silence and did nothing visible. Not one of them moved, and as such, Ron was obliged to perform the next step in his plan.

"I want every underage Wizard here to cast Lumos at the count of three." He let the message be passed through the crowd and then turned, his wand pointing at the Azkaban Guards. Let them be the ones a little put off, eh? "One. Two. Three."

"**_LUMOS!"_** He had never before heard that many voices in such a perfect harmony, it was a sound that gave him a hope, a hope that the Wizarding World could band together to fight this war with Voldemort that seemed all too unavoidable. The half-light of Azkaban Isle was suddenly far outshined, and even though his back was to the mass, he had to close his eyes as the light flooded forward and around him.

~PoD~

Parvati was there. It had been a struggle for the twins to convince their parents, but they had. They were all there, all together. She didn't know what, but something gave her a great sense of dread about what the letter had said. Harry Potter was in Azkaban? It was ludicrous, it was downright **evil**. As she and her sister had decided, the DA had trained her to fight evil. There was more there though, more worry and she was shocked to find the worry had been for Harry himself. True, she had been a vaguely connected friend to him over the years, but they'd never been anywhere near close.

She couldn't understand it.

What she could understand was that as the pure light of the multi-cast Lumos washed over her, it felt...good. She closed her eyes as the light flooded around her, and for just a moment, the cold she'd been feeling all summer so far was gone. Lord Voldemort had returned, but there was always someone who would fight him out there, or in all actuality, _in _there. She was here to help free Harry Potter, and that was what she'd put herself to doing.


	6. Chapter 5: Nocturne

**Chapter five: Nocturne**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Harry Potter series, or this chapter's namesake.

**A/N:** I do promise you. Flat Dumbledore bashing is something I would never participate in. Now will I promise that Dumbledore will always be portrayed positively by the people around him? No. Definitely not. Oh and, sorry for the wait. Due to monetary issues, the net got cut off for a while. :-(

---

**The low light of the nasty smelling room didn't reveal much when his eyes slowly slid open. After taking in the outline of three forms, they slid back shut. He burned the outline of these forms into his memory. One was prone on the floor, the other propped against a far wall as if for dare life, and the next right in front of him. His head lulled of its own accord and he didn't mind. **

**Harry could tell he wasn't doing too well. "Harry mate," Ron said, giving him a very soft smack upside the face. Harry opened his eyes again and looked around. Ron had a broken nose, blood was leaking from it. Hermione looked to be only half aware where she lay, a shirt bundled beneath her head acting as a pillow and Ginny was leaning against the wall for support, pain etched clearly across her face. They were in what looked to be a dungeon, and unlike the dungeons of Hogwarts, this was not kept well at all. **

**Harry had no idea what was going on. He knew he hadn't been there a moment ago, but he didn't know where he had been. "We've got to go stop him now, before he kills Sirius!" Harry wanted to open his mouth and ask what he meant, Sirius was already dead. Then he shook his head hard. No he wasn't. Why would Sirius be _dead? _ He remembered where they were now. They were in Voldemort's headquarters, hiding out in the dungeons after having defeated a large group of Death Eaters.**

**He had to save Sirius! Harry rose to his feet. Inexplicably the torches on the wall flared up several times brighter than before, but when Harry winced and opened his eyes fully again, none of the others seemed to have noticed. He promptly forgot about it, it was so inconsequential compared to this need to find Sirius. He had to hurry... he had to find Sirius quick! **

~PoD~

Dolores Umbridge woke up with the knowledge that she could be in serious trouble if anyone had looked in on her while she was asleep. When she awoke she took a few moments to hope that no one had seen her asleep at her desk, and then she realized what had awoken her. Mafalda Hophirk, the head of the Improper Use of Magic office was standing in front of her desk holding one of the three main detectors of underage magic. It was a model of the planet which was emitting a horrible white glow from—if she saw correctly—Azkaban Isle. "We've a problem, Dolores."

~PoD~

The Minister of Magic was decidedly unhappy. He understood that with his position came a lot of responsibilities and he had no problem fulfilling them. Was a bit of sleep for the first time in a week too much to ask for, though? This seemed so, apparently. As the portkey dropped he and his undersecretaries—Percy Ignamus Weasley and Dolores Jane Umbridge—off inside the doors of Azkaban prison, he saw what had the sensors going off, every couple of seconds a great flash of light would emit from a crowd of cloaked wizards not far outside of Azkaban gates. According to Hophirk, a great many of them were minors.

Cornelius did not like the sight of the group at all.

Under the escort of four Dementors—which made him uncomfortable to say the least—and his undersecretaries, Fudge walked down the path to the gates, taking in the vast number of people who seemed to be here to make a point. He even had a feeling he knew well what that point was but had no proof on which to base this belief. Not yet, at least.

"I, Minister Cornelius Fudge do hereby initiate talks with the one in charge of organizing this... protest.'

The figure closest to the gates raised his wand, and signalled for the crowd behind him to cease casting. Ron had received very last minute training from Dumbledore, on the proper way to open the negotiation ceremony, now it was time to put it to use. "I, Ronald Weasley, believing completely in the necessity of this protest and its cause, accept the initiation and request to speak to the Minister face to face, and not from afar. I am willing to turn over my wand until the negotiations cease if it will make the Minister more comfortable."

Fudge liked the way this boy played ball. As the redhead uncovered his face, Fudge made a sardonic bow. "That shall not be needed. Percy, bring me the second party." Percy Weasley matched eyes with his boss only briefly. Did the man know what he was doing? Did he know he was pushing Percy away from a family he had already all but disowned? Perhaps, and perhaps he didn't care. Percy opened the gates and exited them. He moved to his younger brother, and extended his hand as per the ceremony's rules.

"Greetings from the Minister," he explained, the hand held out expectantly. The boy's hand never rose.

"Don't touch me," Ron replied, lacing his voice with threats of dismemberment should Percy even attempt to shake his hand. "Minister, I believe under rule five, if one party has companions with him, then the other is—for his own safety—entitled to bring an equal number of companions with him to the negotiation. Is that right?"

"Very well," Fudge replied, in a tired growl. He wished the kid would get on with things.

Without waiting for any names to be called, Charlie Weasley and Bill Weasley emerged from the crowd, removing their hoods. This movement concealed the blur of white behind Charlie as Alastor Moody portkeyed from that side of the island into an empty cell in the prison, and hastily vanished his hooded cloak.

Faced by three of his brothers instead of only one, Percy's cool determination faltered and then died, turning instead into a pain as if he had been stabbed in the chest. _Just memories, that's all. Just memories. _Percy had no bloody choice though, memories or no. They hurt because he had been very, very wrong. He was an honest man, and knew he owed several apologies. First to his mother, then his father, his brothers and sister, and finally Harry Potter, that was not to mention Albus Dumbledore.

This, however, was not the time for any of it. For now he had no choice, no choice but to do his job. "Come Misters Weasley.'

"Gee, says it like it's a bad thing, doesn't he," Fred remarked loudly from under his hood.

"Poor thing," George replied, "He's in denial."

Ignoring his remaining two brothers—and the small form beside them that he knew must be Ginny—Percy turned.

"Wait," Ron said. "I haven't decided who is coming with me, out of this group." Percy scoffed at how rude his brother was being, it was improper to do this, hold up the negotiations.

Ron however, was thinking strategy, not manners. Charlie was imposing, and would nudge Ron if he thought Ron was being timid on a subject—something he desperately could not afford to do—while Bill had the potential to make Percy feel guilty enough to stay out of the discussion. Fred and George would be a lot quicker to match wits with Percy, Umbridge, and Fudge if one of them snuck in an insult, and he would save face that way. There was Ginny, who seemed about fit to burst form anger ever since she found out about Harry's fate, while for the first time since Ron had known her, Hermione seemed rather lost.

That eliminated those two, in his opinion, and thus left two of the four brothers that had not abandoned his family. The question was, imposing and shaming, or quick witted and headstrong?

And then Ron knew the answer.

~PoD~

In the company of their elder brother, Fred and George walked on either side of their younger. "We'll go up there, and we won't let them rest until they've heard us out," Fred said. "And if they try anything funny on you, we'll make them regret it."

"Word-fu mate, we're masters." (A/N: Just tipping my hat to a good friend.)

Standing face to face with the Minister of Magic was not at all what he thought it would be. This man that underground papers were exclaiming a dictator was actually a very tired looking, withered thing who nonetheless looked like someone that no one could trust and who trusted no one. His eyes swept over Ron, Fred, and George as it to memorize their faces.

"Minister," Ron said, bowing. He rose slowly and matched eyes with the man as if he were a hippogriff.

"Yes, right." The Minister made no similar bow, nor adhered to any of the courtesies. This both annoyed Percy somewhere beneath his façade of calmness, and persuaded Ron that he would no longer adhere to the courtesies himself. "So be it, then. What are your terms?"

"The release of Harry James Potter," the statement hung in the air clearly. It was impossible to confuse his terms.

"Denied. Harry James Potter is a criminal, who has broken the law several times."

"Name one offence Harry has made upon your Ministry?" Ron said, readying for the verbal onslaught.

"How about four? An illegal use of a levitation charm—"

"A house elf attempting to protect Harry." This was Fred.

"The use of the Patronus Charm in front of a muggle—"

"Used to protect his cousin from the Dementors she sent after him." George said, pointing at Umbridge.

"Breaking into the Ministry of Magic—"

"He used a common entrance your employees use daily." Fred.

"Not submitting his wand to be checked and leading others to do the same—"

"There was no one at the desk!" Ron exclaimed ferociously.

"And destroying several items after breaking into a restricted area."

"He was fighting the Dark Lord!" Fred, George, _and _Ron.

"Then there is the matter of the illegal magic he did two days ago."

"To save his life," Ron challenged. "Harry Potter has only ever crossed your ministry thrice, and each time it was to save someone else's life, except this most recent one, in which he saved his own, and I daresay that despite this, he definitely deserves to live."

"I will not release the prisoner."

Alastor Moody raised his hand in greeting as he walked from the prison doors. "Hello minister, I apologize for being late, bloody owl didn't know how to get by my wards."

"It's no problem, Alastor; we're currently negotiating getting rid of this protest."

"And your beloved Minister will not listen to reason," George said.

"Be quiet," Percy called suddenly. "You're not the one negotiating here, Ronald is."

"You stuff it, traitor," Fred replied, scathingly.

Ron had to act quickly. "Fred, George. Be quiet or this negotiation can quickly end on grounds of being disruptive to its own cause." Fudge gave a smirk.

"Fine, you won't release Harry, then this is our demand. You will allow us an escorted one hour visit with him, no Dementors around. I will bring with me my sister, Hermione Granger and Fred and George."

Fudge looked loath to do anything Ron wanted, but he could live with this. "Alright. One Hour. And we'll need an escort."

"I will do it, Minister," Moody said, "I shall be more than enough for these miscreants." Fudge looked pleased then, at having quickly ended this matter. Ron motioned out of the gate to Ginny and Hermione.

~PoD~

It seemed something was happening. Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger were making their way from the group, and Parvati had to know what was going on. _Go, you know what to do, _whispered a voice in her ear. Just as quickly it faded from her mind. "Padma, mother, father, be careful." Then she sprinted from her spot, squeezing through small holes in the crowd and latched her hand onto Ginny's shoulder. "What's going on?"

"We're going to see Harry," Ginny replied, startled by the girl's sudden appearance. "We're… we're going to help." The promise was laced into ever word.

"I'm coming," Parvati said, determinedly, not understanding why herself. She stood defiantly until Ginny nodded and seized _her_ arm, pulling Parvati along behind the redhead. Parvati, who had the longer legs and was a fair bit faster, had no trouble keeping up.

The group met with Ron, Fred and George quickly, and merged into all of six people. "Someone else came with you," Ron said, "Who?"

Ginny leaned over and whispered into Fred's ear. "She's safe, Ron." Parvati—still cloaked like everyone but Ron, Fred and George—smiled meekly, though none could see it.

"This is acceptable?" Ron asked.

"Of course," Fudge replied, grudgingly. _Not so easily over after all. _

As the group turned to walk, following Moody, Fred made a point to make sure his shoulder connected painfully with Percy's who went sprawling onto the ground. "Oh, my apologies," he lied, 'It's this darn cloak, has me off balance."

"Quite alright," Percy whispered, clenching his fists,

~PoD~

**_Harry ran down the damp corridors, passing unconscious Death Eaters left and right. It was as if someone had come through and stunned them all. He had a brief hope that it had been Sirius, and that Sirius was on the prowl, maybe even searching for him. Ron and Ginny were running as best they could, what with Ginny's injured ankle and with them supporting Hermione who couldn't be woken. There was an odd noise, like the sound of a door shutting not too far in the distance and Harry bid them to stop and wait. A voice reached his ears softly, and Harry's eyes widened. This was the voice of Alastor Moody. They'd found one of the prisoners!_**

**_Harry nodded toward Ron, and then turned toward the door the voice was coming from. He hauled out his wand and blew it right from its hinges in a spectacular rain of splintered wood. One prisoner would know where the others were, potentially. Having Moody free would be incredibly beneficial for other reasons, of course, but if he could help, Harry would take it. Harry pushed into the room and was met with the oddest sight. Mad-Eye Moody was sat down to tea. He was dressed in muggle camouflage and combat boots complete with a helmet. Seated opposite of him looked to be something like the tinman Harry had seen in The Wizard of Oz back in muggle primary school._**

**_"I say," it said. "I am _****quite _the proficient sword swinger, my boy." Moody merely nodded and took a draw from his cup. His staff was gone as well, though closer inspection showed that it was leaning up on the wall beside the table. Harry had absolutely no idea what was going on, only that he didn't have time for it. _**

**_"Professor Moody," Harry called, stepping further into the ludicrous scene, positively befuddled, confounded. "We've got to get you out of here!" Moody looked up at him, and Harry saw by the light of Ron's wand that he no longer wore his magical eye. There was visibly no need. There where only a gaping chasm should be was an eye wholly unlike the one beside it, though it was still very sharp. _**

**_"Oh, John my dear fellow," Moody suddenly began in a most unusual tone. "Have I introduced you to Patton yet? He is _****quite _the accomplished swordsman!"_**

**_"Professor, we've got to go!" _**

**_"Well what's the rush, my boy?" the tinman asked. _**

**_"Oh he can't tell you _****that_," Moody answered. "It'd be far too dangerous to you if he did. Isn't that right?" _**

~PoD~

Ron rounded the corner, feeling a strange mix of pride and utter revulsion. The place was disgusting and smelled of feces and sweat and rotted food. Several of the prisoners in that wing were Death Eaters he and Harry and the others had fought against. He almost felt sorry for most of them. They were unconscious thanks mostly to the efforts of Moody, but that wasn't why they were pitiable. The rags they wore, the depraved positions most of them had been in when the spell took effect, those were reasons why these people were saddening to look at.

It was as if everyone in Azkaban was more than a little barmy. Hermione at his side was fit to burst with indignation. She hadn't stopped commenting on the cruel way these prisoners were kept since they'd gotten outside of the hearing of the Dementors. Moody was silent up until they stepped into the cell block.

"Right then," he said. "It is of the utmost importance that you give him his wand just as we leave. We will hold an hour's meeting with him just as we agreed, and we will then leave, leaving him the wand and the letter with instructions in it." Moody frowned as they approached Harry's cell.

"Something's wrong," he finally said. "Potter's quiet. He's never quiet." Ron and Hermione exchanged looks, not sure quite what that meant. Then Mad-Eye's good eye got wider and he broke into something close to a run. Ron picked up speed, followed by the remainder of their group.

~PoD~

_Harry stopped and turned to Ron as the boy said, "Harry mate?" Ron was looking forward at the spectacle in the room as if he had not spoken, but Harry had and still could hear him. "Harry, we've got some things for you, you need to wake up." _

_"What?" Harry asked Ron, drawing his eyes away from the chuckling tinman "What are you taking about, I'm right here!"_

_"Harry, Fudge has let us in to see you for an hour. You have to wake up; we have to speak to you." Ron seemed to be staring determinedly ahead. Hermione, from behind them, let out a gasp, but when he turned to look at her, she was still unconscious, being supported by Ron. It made no sense. _

_"What?" he repeated lost. _

_"What has happened to him?" a new voice from nowhere demanded. It sounded like... it sounded like someone he knew. It was a girl's voice, sweet, but demanding. Not Hermione's… and Ginny definitely didn't sound like that. "What has Azkaban done to him?" _

_Azkaban? That's right; he was rotting in a cell in Azkaban._

_Wait, no he wasn't. He was right here, in the corridor. Someone must have confounded him… maybe the room had done it to Moody, and was doing it to him too._

_"Harry," Hermione called strongly, despite her being clearly unconscious, "Wake up! Oh Merlin, wake up! Professor, we've got to do something, he's in trouble! Harry, please wake up!" _

_And by some miracle, he did. _

Harry let out a gasping, pained breath as he opened his eyes. A wall of the same mustard coloured light that saw him off met him again. Slowly he watched it fade back into him. Sight came to his eyes, and he did not mention the light as he was suddenly very not alone. He tried to draw a deep breath, trying desperately. He couldn't. His lungs were labouring, but they were coming up short.

In his cell were seven people, six were in hooded cloaks, and three of those six were not hooded. Fred, Ron and George Weasley were standing at the back of the cell, farthest from him. The closest three removed their hoods, and Harry saw their faces. Hermione... Ginny... and... Parvati?

The dream came back to him, and he remembered their voices imposing upon it, and the mystery of the unknown voice was solved. Harry's head was in horrible pain, it made it hard to think or reason, and he was sweating bullets… and he still tried to draw a deep breath. This headache was affecting him badly; he had trouble with peripheral vision, and had to focus hard to make out the faces.

"Harry," Hermione said, crouching on the dirty stone floor. "What's happened to you?" Her face was the epitome of fear and worry. Her hands moved first to his forehead, then to each cheek. She then seemed to gaze at him, though not directly so, as if trying to see straight into him. It was by far the most worried reaction anyone was having to his admittedly pitiful state. Suddenly he realized just how bad his breathing was. Panic seized him, and he reached up, grasping her arm.

He tried to speak and barely garbled out, "So much pain... can't breathe. Want to cry." Harry found this was true. "Merlin help me! I'm dying!" He found this too, must be true. Each breath felt so shallow, he didn't think he could survive. Panicking, he groped wildly at his cot for some hand hold, trying to push himself up.

"Did they beat you Potter?" Moody asked suddenly at Hermione's side

"No… I'm… sick." Then Harry coughed, spewing blood all over his clothing again.

"Oh Merlin," Moody sighed. "Potter **_would _**be one of them. Delicate, that one." Moody growled. "This ruins everything" There was a long silence while they all waited for explanation but he offered none. In this moment he seemed quite like Dumbledore. His mind changed tracks seamlessly. Harry didn't notice any of this, nor did Hermione. She was too busy squeezing Harry's hand, hearing pitiful attempts to draw deep breaths. "This changes everything. Tell me something, all of you. Would you give your life for Potter?"

The disbelieving silence he was met with did not shock him. The boy's friends were fiercly loyal. Harry Potter was the man who should be leading the rebellion against Fudge, Moody felt in that moment. Not Dumbledore.

"Yes," Parvati found herself saying, "We all trained together, to help the world and give our lives for any one of our friends." Fred and George gave her an appreciative smile as Harry moaned in pain, trying in vain to better his situation by sitting up.

"Would you be willing to risk being criminals, possibly labelled as treasonous, to set Potter free?" This next question was barked out quickly, as Moody saw how bad the situation was getting.

"Yes," Ron said, standing up from Harry's bedside quickly. "We all would."

"Are there any who here wouldn't?" Moody asked. No one answered. Moody wasn't sure why.

"There is a portkey in my robe pocket which will take the user straight to Dumbledore. I'm going to turn my back and someone is going to fire a stunner at me and take it, Harry and everyone else with him. Whosoever wishes to stay out of trouble will need to be stunned as well, so I can say they attempted to help me stop the rest of you." Moody then did indeed turn his back. "It is essential you get Potter out of here quickly, or he will die. Understand this, whoever takes him will have to join him in hiding. You will likely have to leave the country." Again, no one backed down. Moody nodded grimly.

"Alright, we need some of us to stay here in the country if the rest of us go," Ron said. "Someone needs to know the truth. Parvati, Hermione and Ginny, I'm leaving it down to you three. You have to stay here and get the word out, alright?" His hand was in his pocket before he finished speaking

"Ron," Ginny began to challenge, her face turning red. Ron turned from where he had his back to her in a flash and drew his wand. "Prat," she managed before he cried out the stunning spell, and she fell back into Fred's and George's waiting arms. They laid her carefully down at the foot of Harry's bed.

Hermione nodded toward Parvati, who chewed her lip in frustration. What had she gotten herself into? "Alright," she conceded. A wand touched the back of her neck and she lowered herself into a half sitting position. "Go on, then."

"_Stupefy_," Fred said. He caught her quickly and lowered her to the ground. When Hermione had been equally disposed of, Ron turned toward Moody, who still had his back turned to them all. Moody waved his wand, killing all the wards in the Cell Block, including the one stopping portkeys.

"Hurry," he whispered. "The prisoners are waking." Harry moaned in pain and confusion, grasping rattling breath filling the room again.

"_Stupefy_," Ron finished, knocking Moody unconscious. The newly reinstated auror hit the ground with a thud and Ron reached into the pocket, withdrew the portkey—one of Fawkes' feathers—and then as he felt the magic begin, he seized Fred and George, and together, each of them grabbed hold of Harry and held tight.

Pain wracked Harry's body as he spun through the air, and two arms held him tight to his three companions. He would have screamed could he draw breath. All at once they hit what felt like water way too hard, and then sunk into it, causing Harry to draw no breath for a moment, despite his frenzied gasping. Had he been awake enough, he would've quickly realized it definitely wasn't water for a moment after that the spinning stopped and the group as a whole crashed, destroying a wooden chair opposite of the one in which sat Albus Dumbledore.

Dumbledore blinked once and then twice before he figured out exactly what the blood on Harry's shirt meant, and what must be going on. In a moment of bad timing, Harry fell unconscious amidst the pile of Weasley children.


	7. Chapter 6: Night Owls

**_Chapter Six: Night Owl_**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter or this chapter's namesake.

---

Harry was only half conscious as he lay in a soft bed. Things had slowly begun to become less and less jumbled. His mind had yet to become completely aware, but he would later remember faces, looking around the room. During that time, no one but Dumbledore left his side. He faded in and out of coherence and yet, felt the pain lessening until it was completely gone.

Finally he came to very suddenly, and sat up all at once. Several things felt different. He could breathe, see, and feel a profound lack of physical pain. Things were also clearer in his head. He felt immensely strong suddenly, so much so that he got straight to his feet in, stupefied. This alerted Fred, George and Ron, who immediately called out for Dumbledore. Harry looked around him. The room was not one he recognized, but it was absolutely brilliant. He didn't know where he was, but he could safely eliminate several places from his list of possibilities. This was not Number Four, nor was it the Burrow, it most definitely wasn't Grimmauld Place, and he knew by the very feel of the room that this was NOT Hogwarts.

The room was extravagant! There were dazzling reds and yellows and blues all around him, floating around the room, or running up and down the walls in orbs and threads and ambient glows. Strange as they were, it was beautiful. He blinked and then they were gone, revealing a soft blue paint on the walls. He tilted his head in confusion. "Harry?" Harry heard Albus Dumbledore as he entered. "Are you okay?"

"I am..." his mind brought back memories of the past few days, and a glare slowly formed on his face as he turned in spot on Dumbledore. "Better than should be expected." He paused, and drew a deep breath in, again marvelling that he could _breathe_. He still felt very warm, though.

"You should sit down, mate. You're bound to be weak… you were really sick." Ron was in fair need of a shave and he looked exhausted. Fred and George seemed to be faring far better, but they were openly fidgety. No one seemed to comment on the lights that had been all over the place seconds ago.

"Mr. Weasley is right, Harry. The magic it took to remove the tumours from your chest drew from your own magic store for quite a lot of the work. You're lucky to be breathing, but if I do say so myself Madam Pomfrey and her healer friend are quite the accomplished mediwitches." Ron looked promptly nervous, and Harry wondered just how close he came to dying _this_ time.

"Where am I?" Harry asked, ignoring Dumbledore's comments. This was in part because of his annoyance at the man, and because he didn't want to face the thought that there had been tumours growing in his chest. The only phrase that came to mind when he thought of that was 'lung cancer.'Had Harry asked, his fears would have been confirmed.

"Well, contrary to popular belief, I do not live at Hogwarts during the summer, indeed you, Ronald, Fred and George Weasley are now houseguests of mine, for an extended visit, it seems. Do you understand what happened?" Harry closed his eyes, trying to understand his memories through the haze of pain he'd been in, the panic. Tunnel vision, fever dreams, confusion everywhere, fear. He remembered gripping at Hermione's arms, begging her to help him, but no words would come forth and he would rely on the gripping, like a sailor clutching a lifeline that slowly slipped from his fingers.

"You lot got yourselves in trouble because of me, didn't you? I remember hearing you talking about it while I was coming in and out." Harry was rounding on them quickly; now giving them the same look he had Dumbledore. He felt properly grateful that they were there for him, but also guilty. "Because I was... susceptible to something about Azkaban. I don't actually remember much about that day, just… flashes." _Ugly ones._

"Some very ancient and barbaric wards on the prison from back in its days as a cruel king's personal dungeon. They only affect a small amount of people now, and you Harry, were very open to them. They could well have killed you; this is why Alastor ordered this done. You are all staying here until I can clear Harry's name, and thus all of yours in turn." Harry nodded mutely to Dumbledore, numb covering up his prior annoyance. "And incidentally, I've just brought a guest. I imagine you do not know this, but I live next door to a well respected family, one whose daughter woke up three days ago on the floor of a cell in Azkaban after Mister Weasley knocked her unconscious."

Harry furrowed his brow. The only person he could have been talking logically about was Parvati... but... had he really been in and out for _three_ days?

Parvati was standing just behind Dumbledore, in the doorway. She crossed the threshold, glancing at the others of the room apprehensively. Then she looked up at him. "Hiya, Harry. I'm glad to see you feeling better." Harry very suddenly felt déjà vu. He was hit with a very familiar feeling in his stomach, one that he had last experienced the morning of last Valentine's Day. He didn't understand the source then and couldn't begin to grasp what was throwing him off by looking at Parvati. Of course he knew what it was _supposed _to mean, but he was loath to admit it to himself.

"Ah, well," he started, and then stopped. Of a sudden he felt like he weighed a ton. Harry found his strength weaning and he sat down on the edge of his bed accordingly, slamming his eyes shut and opening them again to try to clear the blur of his sight. When he opened them, the mustard-coloured light was oozing off of his body, and once again forming the barrier like it had that day in Azkaban. No one seemed to react to it, as if they thought he'd just slipped and fallen. Dumbledore though, as he came into Harry's sight, looked quite similar to one of the few things he could remember about three days ago, the terror on Hermione's face.

"Harry," he spoke suddenly, eyes widening. "All of you back away from the bed!" Everyone followed the order, Ron scrambling to get behind Dumbledore. "Harry, I need you to say something, anything."

"Get me out of this thing," he said, desperately trying to hit the cocoon wrapping his body, but finding himself unable to reach it.

"Harry, has this happened before?" Dumbledore no longer sounded calm, though not exactly panicking, like Harry himself was beginning to.

"Once, right before I passed out and didn't wake up until they came to get me."

Dumbledore frowned. "This is not normal. Harry, this will hurt, but I need to clear it away so I can get a potion in you. Ms. Patil, go to the closet and open it, then step out of the way." She did as he asked, and stepped back, just in time to see a box fly off the topmost shelf in the closet and stop, hovering in midair. Dumbledore pulled five vials from it and then banished the box back to the cupboard.

_Like you've never hurt me before,_ Harry thought, his mind dripping with a harried anger. He truly did not like having to get any help from Dumbledore. He didn't _trust_ the man right now, despite knowing he should.

Letting the vials hover he turned his wand on Harry. "I'm sorry for this."

All present saw a flash of purple light streak toward Harry except, that is, for Harry. The light stopped a half meter in front of him and hovered, before finally breaking through. To Harry, he had just witnessed the strange cocoon of light shatter before a searing pain shot through his whole body, and he found himself pushed or dropping into a sitting position on the bed again. "Drink," Dumbledore commanded, placing one vial at his lip. "This will help."

Harry didn't answer, but allowed the liquid into his mouth, and swallowed. Four vials later, Dumbledore stepped back. Reeling from the strange effects of the potions shoved down his throat, Harry felt himself passing from consciousness. He gripped onto the post of the bed briefly before that faltered, and he dropped backwards.

"What happened?" Parvati asked her Headmaster somewhat nervously; as if she was unsure she wanted to know the answer.

"One of those was the Draught of the Living Dead. The state which I have put him in is extreme and dangerous, however if it will contain his magic then he must be put in it and must remain so for a long time." Dumbledore was not pacing back and forth but he was looking more worn than the conscious people in the room had ever seen. "None of you could see it, I'm assuming. But what Harry and I just witnessed was Harry's magical essence. His magic has, for some reason, chosen to come outside of his body... and that is very dangerous, the fact that it has—according to him—done this before is a very bad thing."

Dumbledore closed his eyes, and he was speaking under his breath in a whisper that only Ron could hear. "If he doesn't die while he's in this sleep, it will be a miracle." Ron backed up a couple of steps. If that was the sort of thing Dumbledore said to himself, Ron didn't want to hear it anymore. "I'll continue researching a way to stop this," he said. "And if by some grace it works, his life will be even more hectic for the next month or so. I must find out more before I can explain anything else, but understand this. He is not to be given the antidote for the Draught under _any _circumstances unless I administer it personally. Am I clear?" Ron nodded, speaking for all present.

Parvati moved past them all, and reached Harry's bedside quickly. She reached down and brought the blanket up over him. "He was shivering," she said in explanation to the unasked question.

"Right you are, Ms. Patil..." sounding tired and breathless, he said, "I don't suppose any of you would mind a home cooked breakfast from Molly, would you? It would be impossible for them to do this every day, but at least today she, and the rest of the Weasley clan, as well as Ms. Granger are planning to come. We have, oh, about three more hours before it is any fit time to eat breakfast, so I suggest you attempt to sleep. I know I would, were I in your shoes."

No one said anything; they each just turned toward Harry, thinking their own thoughts. Ron in particular, was wondering exactly what to make of Parvati and her sudden interest in Harry. The possibility that she was romantically interested in Harry was... vaguely troubling. There had been no warning; the girl had just shown up out of the blue. A surprise, in a way. Surprises were not good concerning Harry. Then there was the way Harry spoke to and looked at Dumbledore, acting and sounding much like Severus Snape did toward all but a few: blatant disrespect, buried distrust and the occasional bout of outright rudeness.

~PoD~

Remus sat in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee opposite of Molly and Charlie. The day had come for a visit to Dumbledore's house. He wanted to see that Harry was alive for himself, even if the boy was not yet well. Remus and Molly were thinking along similar lines, though Molly was encompassing all of the children staying at Dumbledore's in her mind. Charlie, for his part, was fulfilling an obligation to himself, one to bear witness to these events, one to be there every step of the way until the Weasley name was cleared.

About that time, Remus gave a gasp, and lifted his right arm. Strands of fire flared up, encircling, wrapping, tying it. Then, with a final hissing noise, they vanished. Molly and Charlie looked first in surprise to Remus' arm, and then to his face. The ex-professor was crying.

~PoD~

A Black had not walked these halls for only two weeks, and yet the house reacted to him as if he'd been the first Black to touch the doorstep in years. This troubled Regulus who didn't know of his brother's absence at all. He hadn't read the papers; he knew nothing of what had happened since his escape. But he had bigger problems to deal with, no one would believe him, except the man he was coming to see even now. Today was the day it could finally happen.

Grimmauld place opened up to him, and Regulus Black stepped into his ancestral home. The wards screamed their welcome to him, in the form of a soft humming. The hum was enough to alert several people, who rushed into the room. He had suspected Remus would be here... but not all of these other people whom he didn't know. There were an awful lot of redheads amongst them, which reminded him slightly of his cousin Molly. And then shetoo appeared. That explained it, then. They were her children. What, however, were they doing here, and moreover what should he do about her wand aimed at his skull?

Remus was the first to say anything to him. "Regulus," the werewolf all but yelled, stepping forward and seizing the man in a hug. Regulus cried out in pain at the gesture, or more at the pain it incited in him. Remus didn't seem to realize that his strength was sufficient to hurt the injured Black. There was only joy for Remus. He was happier than many had seen him since Sirius was proven innocent even after his death, and even that was a bitter happiness, like finding an old love note the day after a break-up. "You're back," Remus whispered. "You're back! That means the Vow has become void, hasn't it?"

"Yes," Regulus replied, somewhere between harsh and cool. He did not like having wands lowered at his face. "It has, now please release me. You can explain now, so do so before all present jinx me, Molly certainly seems eager." Her wand was ever vigilant on his head. He could almost swear the tall, skinny but obviously powerful and obviously Weasley boy beside her who had his wand aimed at the same spot had licked his lips.

"Remus, what is going on here?" asked said Weasley boy. Remus was smiling, so widely that Molly was startled. "Who is this? Why does mum want to curse him into the next century?"

"I think the explanation can wait Charlie. We have a breakfast to get to, don't we? Come Regulus, we're going to Dumbledore's. I'll fill everyone in on _everything _when we get there." Remus let out a harsh barking laugh. "Regulus you old git, you've done it!"

"Yes and no." Remus frowned in response as he reached into his pocket and withdrew the portkey, his laughter shot, but his mood not entirely so.

"I see... well, grab hold, everyone." It was quite a feat, but they did all manage to get a finger on the feather. Fawkes' feathers were the Order's portkey _de jour_.

~PoD~

Remus announced loudly the moment he got his feet solid on the ground and saw Dumbledore that he had to tell everyone present something amazing. Dumbledore's eyes came to rest just briefly when on the sight of the battered Black beside Remus, half-covered in dirt mixed with dried blood, holding a wand equally soiled. The _legally challenged_ Weasley brothers and Parvati filed out of Harry's bedroom to investigate the source of the commotion, and Ron saw the similarities between the man who stood at Remus' side and the man he had once known as Sirius Black, AKA, Snuffles.

"So sorry to hinder the breakfast, but... well, everyone sit!" And they all did as Lupin bade.

"As some of you know, sixteen years ago tomorrow, Regulus Black was declared dead. Oh, they even gave us a body to bury. I can only conclude that they had some experts in Transfiguration. I had thought him dead then too, and as such, could not tell anyone what had really happened. Two weeks before he joined the Death Eaters, Regulus forced me into the unbreakable vow. Sirius was the bonder, and later ordered we wipe his memory of it and many other things relating to Regulus for Regulus' sake. The vow was to never repeat to anyone anything that Regulus told me, as he was going into the Death Eaters. The stipulation was that, should he return to Grimmauld Place alive, it would mean he had accomplished his goal and the vow would be withdrawn.

"Today, the Vow was withdrawn, so I can tell you all something important, we know how Voldemort survived when the Killing Curse rebounded on him."

"Remus," Dumbledore interrupted. "If what you're saying is true then it is very important that Regulus tells it himself."

"Tell me Albus," Regulus said in a rattling whisper. "You've heard of the Dark Lord Morlen. He was the last known person to use the magic Voldemort has employed...."

"Do you mean to say that Tom is using the Horcrux?" Dumbledore asked, exhaustedly. All thoughts of breakfast were gone from the table, as a new mystery had been put on their hands.

"Horcrux?" Hermione interjected. It was a term she had never heard of, which judging by her Headmaster's reaction, she would find very interesting.

"Six Horcruxes actually. I can personally account for one of them as well, and I have my suspicions of others." Dumbledore leaned back.

_Six Horcuxes… well I might say…I'm not sure I'm shocked. Sad, maybe._

"You did destroy it, didn't you?" Remus asked,

Regulus shook his head at Remus and leaned forward, as if exhausted. "I failed. I knew I was going to die, Voldemort had Fenrir and Lucius after me. I stuck it in a jewellery box and had it delivered to Grimmauld Place. I trusted that one day Sirius could possibly destroy it if he ever figured out what was going on. Tell me, how _is_ Sirius?"

A silence fell upon the table, and Remus waited until after Molly had gotten up and begun cooking before speaking. "The night of Halloween, when your "Body" turned up, Sirius got very angry and left Grimmauld Place. While out in London he heard news that the Potters were dead." Regulus looked stunned.

"They'd said as much as they held me, but... I never believed it. James Potter could hide from him… if anyone could hide from him, it was James Potter." Regulus looked shocked.

Remus gently continued, "Yes, they died. But their one year old was the one who destroyed Voldemort and almost killed him."

"Halloween... that was the night Lucius put me in his dungeon. Their child you say? How?" Remus filled him in on events over the years and finally things came down to a few weeks ago.

"Bellatrix struck him with a stunner from close enough range to knock him back into the Veil." Regulus' upper lip curled into a snarl that reminded the children of Snape.

"I'll personally have her heart," he promised Remus, and it was no empty promise. There was no one around the table that could believe a Black would lie about a promise like that.

"Albus," Molly asked from the stove, "Something is bothering me, how could Regulus see Grimmauld Place?"

Dumbledore leaned back, quite cautiously choosing his words so as to not confuse anyone. "I believe that the wards on Grimmauld have destroyed the Fidelius Charm due to passing from one owner to another so quickly, and then having that owner—Harry—be imprisoned and stripped of his privileges. I rather think that when Regulus came walking up those steps that the House latched onto him as its owner, and destroyed the Fidelius in the process. These are potent wards, Molly, powerful and ancient. The house must have been in disarray. Sirius was in Azkaban, then he came back, then he died, then Harry took it, then Harry was put in Azkaban. It was all too much, you see." Regulus let this information pass through his head before he spoke.

"What possible excuse could anyone have for putting the son of James and Lily bloody Potter in prison?" he asked, completely dismissing it. Remus told him the story in passing before handing the conversation over to Dumbledore. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George had to admit that this was the happiest they had ever seen the werewolf.

As Regulus listened to Dumbledore introduce everyone around the table, he wondered about the boy lying in the bed two rooms over, the one who Remus said loved Sirius like a father. The son of the man who had saved Regulus' life. James had died before Regulus could repay him.

Regulus' life debt was to be passed on to James' son then.

~PoD~

Remus looked Regulus in the eye when they finally got away from the massive group, consisting mostly of redheads. "Regulus, I've missed you, terribly." Regulus nodded.

"And I you, Remus." He embraced the werewolf, and then nodded toward the closed door. "Can I see this boy with whom everyone seems so taken?"

"I warn you, you may well believe that James has come back from death, Merlin knows you and Pettigrew pulled it off." Remus opened the door and quietly approached Harry.

Regulus however, squinted and closed his eyes. "Great Merlin!" He opened them again, disconnecting his mind from the portion able to see magical essence. "Be glad you cannot see magic Remus, the boy is emanating an unnatural white light. He must be very ill for it to be able to nearly blind me."

"It is so," Remus replied, "according to Dumbledore."

That was when Regulus finally saw Harry, and he did indeed notice that this was like James Potter reborn. The boy was dirty, bloody, and red with fever, but he had James' silent grace even in this state. "Sweet Merlin," Regulus whispered, in slight shock. "The nose is a little shorter, but other than that...."

"He has Lily's eyes," Remus interjected. "Despite those two things though... there is no denying it, he is his father's son, even down to his rivalry with a Malfoy, and with Severus Snape."

Regulus looked upon Remus with a tired eye. "Might you put up a tired old man for the night?" He asked, smiling.

"You can't fool me. Old man, pah!' Remus gestured impressively back out of the door, taking a moment to examine Harry's prone form.

Regulus had missed a lot of things, but Remus most of all.


	8. Chapter 7: Just Like You

**_Chapter seven: Just Like You_**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or this chapter's namesake.

---

The uncomfortable silence stretched out above the prone form of the Boy-Who-Lived and the bed he lay comatose in. Parvati and Ron were the only two by Harry's bedside at that moment. This in and of itself was strange, but Remus, Regulus and the twins were sitting in the downstairs sitting room with Dumbledore, discussing something Order-related by the light of a few candles. It left Ron time to broach a serious subject.

"I'm curious," Ron finally admitted, as they sat and stared. "Why are you here? Why did you come?" He examined Harry's face, as if he had not even spoken to Parvati at all. This was done in an honest attempt to distance himself from the situation.

"I don't know," she said, softly, "It was quite odd, wasn't it?" Her voice was not forgiving, accusatory nor guilty. She was doing precisely as he had, distancing herself emotionally from the discussion. Truthfully she had no answers for him and didn't believe any amount of his prying would bring any up.

"In all my thinking, my planning, I couldn't have guessed that you of all people would try to get involved with this. Neville, Luna, maybe even Chang… but you? Last any of us knew, you hated Harry for the scene at the Yule ball." Ron was speaking more frankly now, still not accusatory in tone, but he certainly wasn't tiptoeing around his point.

"I didn't hate him," she replied in something between resentfulness and worry. "It just kind of hurt hurt. I'd liked him a lot back then." She now turned away from Ron and examined Harry's face. It was serene. This was a look that few ever saw on his face outside of the Quidditch Pitch. At Hogwarts, Harry was always on guard to a degree, even when happy. Unless he was hunting down the snitch that look of happiness was decidedly rare.

"And now?" Ron asked, this time raising his blue eyes to meet her dark brown ones. There was no give in his questioning, no room to be ignored. This was perhaps the most important part of the conversation and he was damned determined to have it. His feet shifted uneasily all the same.

"I don't know," she replied, this time much more frustrated. "Why are you asking me?"

"Because, if you're trying to hang around Harry because of misguided reasons, I'm going to stop you before you hurt yourself or him and if you're hanging around him for reasons that seem good enough, I'm going to tell you everything you need to know to be careful around him. Everything, that is, that I can." Ron stood and paced to the other side of the room. The bed and a bedside table now stood between he and Parvati, and he felt that this was a good thing.

Her mere presence confused and irritated him. Somehow, during the whole procedure on Azkaban isle the commanding, tactical side of him took over, and had not let go of him. Unlike Hermione, he was not good at learning, so each new piece of information destroyed his peace.

"I was standing there, with everyone else, and then when Ginny and Hermione walked away to go up there… I…." She didn't finish her statement. The silence drew out, while she sat in that exact same pose, as if completely dumbfounded.

"You what?"

"I don't know," she replied, hanging her head. "I just… moved. I followed. I joined them. I had no other choice."

"What does that mean exactly?"

"It was just something I thought I had to do."

"I see," he finally replied, sounding more than confused, more than worried. "I don't know if I like or understand the sounds of that. I can't even find a motive to try to understand."

"I'm not leaving," she suddenly said, strongly. "If that's what you're going to try to make me do."

"I wasn't planning on it," he shot back, his eyes narrowing. He took in the look on the girl's face, and wasn't sure he liked it. It was defensive, unnecessarily so. In that moment, he knew they were both on the verge of heated words. She would be angry, asking why he had a right to stick his nose in Harry's life. He would rebut with much the same response.

They never got a chance to act out this scenario.

~PoD~

Regulus sat apart from Dumbledore, who was—in a hushed but still forceful voice—attempting to force him to remember more than he could from his time in captivity. It was all Regulus could do to stop himself from trying to expel Dumbledore from his mind. He distinctly disliked something about the man now, as if he was a very different person. Dumbledore was just as quiet as usual, but when he did speak he was rougher, straight to the point and didn't seem as if he cared what effect the questions he was asking had on the answerer.

Finally, after what felt like ages, Dumbledore withdrew from his mind and Regulus collapsed forward in his seat. Remus reached out and physically pulled Regulus into an upright position. "Are you alright?" Remus asked, softly.

"I had hoped no one would ever enter my mind again," was his only reply to Remus. Regulus did not match eyes with Dumbledore. It was at this exact moment that a thousand sounds rang throughout the building. The sounds of several people screaming, as well as what sounded like the mournful tune of a dying Siren. The candles changed to a horrible red, making everything in the room look to be covered in blood.

"The wards," Dumbledore said quickly, standing and withdrawing his wand. He waved it once, and a large hole opened in the wall, displaying the outside. A storm of Death Eaters were marching on the house. They made it to the gate before a wave of spells was sent toward them, long lain dormant and woven amidst the wards. It was with little more than a glance that Dumbledore concluded, "there are close to eighty. This is no small raiding party, they know who is here, and they want us all."

"What do we do?" Remus asked him.

"We leave England, now. I have ties in many other countries, and you can bet that Voldemort is watching every last one of them. There is only one safe place for us to go." Dumbledore stalked from the room and—the others in tow—he climbed the stairs. Much to their confusion, he did not go to Harry's room right off, he stopped outside of a door and began placing ward upon ward and spell upon spell and curse upon curse on it. The sounds of Death Eaters attacking the warded gates were now growing many times louder.

"What are you doing?" Regulus cried, "We've got to get the boy out of here!"

"Let me focus," Dumbledore replied calmly. After another minute of this, the old man turned away from the door and moved down the hallway, blasting open the door to Harry's room. Parvati and Ron were there, wands drawn and against the wall, ready to strike at whoever entered. "It's us, move, grab hold of Harry's bed everyone."

They did as told as quickly as they could. A loud shattering sound filled their ears as the window to the room broke and a glare of green flew right past Regulus' head. The downstairs door was blown clean off its hinges, and very suddenly the voice of Voldemort himself—recognizable only to Dumbledore—called out to them. Dumbledore's left hand seized a free part of Harry's bed and his right flung his wand forward. "_Portus_!"

Ron threw himself on top of Harry as the portkey activated and the boy slid on the bed, using his physically strong arms as straps to hold the both of them to either side of the frame. A hand seized his ankle as the room fell away and a streak of green headed toward them, only to vanish in the swirl, and slowly the Twins secured Ron and Harry's legs, and then, there was a moment of panic as all of the hands let go, and the bed slammed violently to earth.

"Move!" Dumbledore was yelling now, levitating the badly damaged bed holding Ron and Harry both now as well as half-holding Parvati and Fred. Regulus, George and Remus followed in their wake. It was night time here, wherever they were and Dumbledore seemed to be heading quickly for a building off in the distance. The air was thick, and for some reason Ron couldn't breathe properly. He began coughing and then slowly it passed and he slid from the floating bed to the ground, rolling to his feet.

He followed the group as they made toward the large abandoned building. He caught Parvati from mid air when she slipped and fell from the floating bed and Fred dropped down to his feet beside them. "Come on, let's go," he called, setting Parvati on her feet. The building in the distance was an old, obviously abandoned manor. As they came to the door of the manor, Regulus and Dumbledore could see that a strange glow began emitting from the bed. The gates took on this same glow, and a loud voice, like a giant's bellowed from the building. Unlike the glow, all present could bare witness to the voice.

"Leave and never return, this is your only warning, before your death." That was enough to put Ron on edge. His first thought was that Dumbledore was barmy and he ought to grab Harry and run.

Dumbledore remained calm however, and called, "I bring with me the one to whom you will open yourself. He is in mortal peril. Come forth, and examine him for yourself." Silence snuck up on the group.

"Who are you talking to?" Remus asked, quickly.

"The wards around this house. It has been several years and the house has been moved from its original spot, but surely you can not forget whose house this is. True, it is disarrayed, but that is but an illusion. Look closely." Ron turned to look at Remus. Remus' eyes shot sideways, matching with Regulus. Though rather blank in the face compared to the werewolf, Regulus nodded a silent confirmation.

"Potter Manor?" Remus asked his eyes widening. "But how?" Ron took a step back. Whether the home belonged to the Potters or the Malfoys, something was threatening to kill them.

"No time now, the Wards are not replying to me, we have no choice but to…" Dumbledore trailed off and then waved his wand violently forward. Harry's bed shot forward, toward the gates, and it was then that Regulus saw that Harry himself was what was glowing to match the colour around the gates. The light the gates were giving off shot up and toward Harry.

Ron, panicking, yelled at Dumbledore to set Harry down, fearing Harry would crash into these wards or into the building. He was about to make a move toward Dumbledore when he heard something similar to a groan. The long grass all around them swept back, yet he felt no wind.

There was a sudden moment where Regulus thought these wards, obviously powerful, would destroy Harry. Then moments before the bed and the wards would have met in midair, they both stopped. The voice came spoke again and this time the wards around the building pulsated in time with it.

"Welcome home, ye of the noble Blood." The wards now moved forward slowly, surrounding the bed and lowering it to the ground outside of the building. There, in that brief moment the pale blue became visible to Ron, Parvati and the twins as well. It flared so bright that all of them had to cover their eyes.

When they cleared, the building had transformed. Once dulled by dirt and time, the outside now was clean. Made of pure obsidian strengthened by magic, this building was large and extravagant. It looked as if it was larger than Dumbledore's seemed—none of them but Dumbledore, Parvati and Remus had ever seen the outside—and it was absolutely beautiful. The doors to the house opened and the wards drew the bed inside.

After a moment of silence the gates opened for them.

With a Potter back in Potter Manor, the wards had strengthened and latched onto the bedridden boy. Three house elves met the group at the door and quickly gathered around Harry's bed.

"He looks just like Master James," one commented softly.

"Mali, Ali, Cali," Dumbledore called to the siblings, as the group approached.

"Professor," greeted the house elves in unison. Though they did not look to have any particular emotions toward the professor himself they were seemingly experiencing a mixture of grief and joy, a most peculiar sensation.

"Masters Lily and James be dead?" asked Cali, the male of the siblings.

"They died not long after they left for hiding," Dumbledore said softly to the elf.

"This is Master Harry?" asked Ali.

"Yes," Dumbledore replied. "He is ill, he is very ill."

"He is not happy," Cali replied. "He has not been happy for a long time."

"Harry has had a hard life," Dumbledore started to explain. To Ron's surprise, all of the house elves immediately disregarded him and turned on Harry.

"He does not want you here. He does not want you near him." Dumbledore fell silent. His face was not impassive, though at the same time not offended. Troubled, perhaps, which was worse in Ron's eyes. Ron turned and matched eyes with Remus, who looked to the twins. It was as if no one wanted to try to venture a guess as to what was happening.

"I think," Ron said, "it's time you tell us what happened after we got separated at the Ministry."

"I… cannot."

"Why not, Albus?" Remus asked, softly.

"It's obvious Harry is not happy with you. He's never looked at anyone but Pettigrew or Snape like that. What happened?" Ron was growing bolder now, but the look on Dumbledore's face smashed it.

"Harry is under the delusion that I have attempted to keep the truth of something from him, something big. What happened was a foolish mistake on my part, one very large, foolish mistake. I am afraid that he has not forgiven me yet."

"He does not want you here." Mali said, echoing her brother. "You must leave."

"Mali, surely you know I was friends with Lily and James, I would never do anything to harm Harry. He's very ill, he needs help. If you do not let me stay with him… he could die."

The elves looked from one to the next and after seconds of silence nodded and stepped aside. With simultaneous snaps of their fingers, they fixed the broken bed and levitated it into the house. Ron followed slowly, Parvati behind him and the twins behind her. When they crossed the threshold, Ron experienced something he only really felt at the Burrow. He felt… at home. That was strange to him on the basis that this place could not be farther from the haven of the redhead.

The main foyer was gigantic, dark, stretching on. Dead in then centre a large, spiral staircase climbed up several floors and to either side of the foyer and to the back were doors. The bed suddenly jerked straight up and Ron just barely had time to latch onto it in reaction.

Within a few moments, the Weasley was hovering what seemed like five stories above the foyer before he was able to step onto solid ground several floors up. Again, the bed was rushed down a hallway and into a room where the door was open. Ron followed it at something near a jog.

_Wait until I tell Hermione that Harry has three house elves. _

A crib sat in the corner of the room, painted a light blue somewhat like the room Harry had just been taken from. It was not hard to guess that this had once been Harry's room as an infant. He wondered, vaguely what Harry would think if he was awake to learn about this place. Would he be confused? Scared? Or angry that he hadn't known about it beforehand.

The crib and baby's toys vanished under Ron's very eyes and the bed finally landed on the ground softly. A snap later, Ron turned in place to find all three house elves gathered around the bed.

"How did you know he was mad at Dumbledore?" Ron asked them. "Did you read his mind?"

"No," the male, Cali answered. "We just… know. Like we know that your presence makes him calmer. We know you must be a friend, a very trusted one."

Mali, the least talkative of the group, turned to him. "Please," she asked. "Stay in this room with him until he gets well." She was pleading with him, as if she had known Harry his whole life. This too, was strange.

Still Ron nodded and suddenly turned back to the bed. Harry's body began shaking violently and his face contorted in pain or in rage. The house elves, obviously fearing for him surrounded the bed. Cali snapped his fingers, conjuring restricting ropes. Was that to hold Harry back for protection of him or protection of the rest of them?

As he lay in his ancestral home, no one could know that Harry Potter was stuck in his own personal Hell.

~PoD~

_"Come now, Harry, tell me, how does one become so weak?" Harry tried to snarl, tried to break free, but could do nothing of the sort. "This is your own mind, your own consciousness and yet, here you are. You have become my own, little, prisoner. Oh, revenge is sweet, Potter. Finally it is mine to have. In this state, I cannot kill you, as I am not deep enough in your mind to find your core. By some magic, there has always been a wall up around your core, whatever it may be comprised of." Harry didn't understand this; all he understood was that he was trapped with Voldemort until Dumbledore woke him. Alone. _

_"I've pierced your core once, but only enough to control you so briefly. But it was a sweet moment of control, to hear you begging for death." Harry struggled hard against his shackles. "When I'm done, you will hate me as much as I hate you. Dumbledore's golden child will **not **be able to feel what he calls the greatest power, when I'm done there will be no love in you, Potter. Only HATE. You will exist to kill me, and I will never die, and because of that. You too will seek immortality. You are a brave, wise boy, I know you will find it as I did. So we can duel for eternity and you can see, you will never win." Harry shuddered under Voldemort's monologue. _

_"You and I, Harry, we will be very the same." Voldemort was now standing in what almost looked to be rehearsed calm. His snakelike red eyes were drinking in every moment of the scene in front of him. _

_"No! I'll never be like you," he yelled, and the force of his body heaving forward pulled the other ends of the chains holding him in place out of the wall of the dungeon that his mind had placed them in, or maybe Voldemort had planted it in Harry's mind. "Never!" _

_"Good, good, Harry. You truly have the strong will of one who will never die." Voldemort reached into his robes, and withdrew from it Harry's wand, or at least... the version of it his mind had conjured. He threw the wand at Harry, who caught it despite his hands being weighed down by heavy chains and shackles. "En garde!" _

_Harry did as the man or creature bade and got ready. He flung his wand's tip down and vanished the heavy chains. The time that he spent doing that gave Voldemort more than enough time to hurl hexes at Harry that he had never heard nor felt nor learned about. He resolved something, he was going to listen to every spell the man cast and learn them all. As he did not flinch, each of the spells flew by him. "Good, Harry, you still have nerve, I was beginning to fear I had broken you. Your favourite toys are the ones you usually end up breaking.?"_

_ "SHUT UP," Harry cried, eyes aflame as he flung his wand outward. _

~PoD~

It had been merely a full day since Harry had been put under. The whole group suddenly knew something was wrong. This included Parvati, who had spent the last few moments of the day sitting up with Regulus Black, Remus Lupin, Fred, George and Ron around Harry's bed. They'd each fallen asleep in their chairs, and she was the one who woke first. The adults followed next, and then Fred, George and Ron. They spent about an hour that morning wondering if they should begin making breakfast, when a dazzling blue light filled the room. "His wand," roared Regulus Black, pulling Ron and Parvati to the ground with him, for those three were in the path of Harry's wand as it lay on the bedside table. The light shot out, and moved toward the wall they'd once been in front of quickly, passing clean through it.

"Oh dear," Remus whispered.

"Spirit Casting," Regulus breathed in pure shock. "That means that he is not dreaming as we hoped he would, he is instead in the half-sentient state some people get stuck in when the potion puts them out. The question is, why would he be casting spells in his mind?"

"Oh Merlin," cried Remus. "We have to help him; he might be at Voldemort's mercy! They've got a mental link due to that bloody scar."

Regulus gave a growl, "You didn't mention that. Ron, bring me my chair," he said, moving toward the bed. When Ron agreed, he sat down in it beside the bed and drew his own wand—stolen back from the Death Eaters.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked, confused and at the same time put off.

"I'm going into his mind with him; he's not going to fight Voldemort alone today. If what Remus said is even half true, the boy could be going through hell." Remus looked pained. Ron, for his part, jumped to his usual stance.

"Then take me," Ron said. "I've fought with Harry loads of times."

"I'd take you if we had more preparation time." Ron scowled. "Get back now, this is dangerous enough for me without your essence leaking out and contaminating the spell." He motioned an angry Ron back and pointed his wand at Harry's temple. "_Invado_," he roared.

~PoD~

_It felt like it had been hours since their duel began and Harry _had _learned a few spells from first hand experience but most of them he'd only use on Voldemort or one of his Death Eaters, including a vile one which felt like someone had brought two daggers across his back in the shape of an X. Harry was on the 'ground' now, suffering as if he was awake. Voldemort had lost interest for a while when he stopped fighting back and had turned to examining the Dungeon wall opposite of where Harry had been hanging, but now he was back, and looking furious. _

_"GET UP POTTER," he roared, throwing the Twin Dagger hex at him and hitting him once more, this time across the chest. No blood spilt because he had none, but it hurt. "GET UP! _ Cruci-"

_"NO!" A voice that Harry thought he knew was raging through his mind, and specifically the chamber they were in. A strong, tall form that seemed to have no limit to grace or power stepped in front of him and flung his wand out silently. A wall of stone rose up in front of them, and the Cruciatus hit it and fell to pieces. The man vanished the wall and hurled back a curse Voldemort had used on Harry earlier, making Voldemort's ankle crack, and causing him to trip. The voice was so familiar. _

_"Sirius," Harry practically cried, embracing the man's shoulders from behind and squeezing tight. "Sirius... I thought you were dead." _

_The man turned, freeing himself from Harry's grasp and Harry saw a face that was and at the same time was not what he expected. This was not Sirius. "I am not Sirius. I was never as good of a man. I will explain soon, hold." _

_Harry watched the man turn back around and bow his head as if in thought. Very suddenly the head snapped up and the wand flexed once, opening up a bright white hole on the far wall of the Dungeon, where Harry had once hung. A banishing charm followed, catching the fallen Voldemort in the chest and hurling him back into the hole. It closed quickly, and the man let out an animalistic yelp that Harry recognized as laughter. He turned back to Harry. _

_"My name is Regulus Black."_

_And this is when Harry ran. He only got to the other end of the Dungeon before he whipped around, his wand out. "A dead Death Eater," Harry said. "I don't care if you are alive, you're a Death Eater and the fact that you banished Voldemort means nothing." Harry was in pain. He felt as if he was injured, but he saw no physical signs of it. Backing up against the wall, he raised the wand to chest level. _

_"Harry, please calm down. I bring you news. Parvati Patil, Ronald Weasley, Fred and George Weasley and Remus Lupin and I spent all night at your bedside. I am a friend. I went undercover into the Death Eaters, I found out how Voldemort became Immortal. I took some steps to try and end his immortality, but I mostly failed. They imprisoned me, sent my brother a fake body, and up until last night I knew nothing of what had happened. _

_"I got free and returned to __Grimmauld Place__, then I met up with Dumbledore and the rest of them. I came into your mind directly, not through Voldemort. Remus and Ron send their greetings." _

_"Why should I believe you? Sirius told me that you were just like your parents." Harry was crouching low. _

_"You don't have to. Just know that if Voldemort returns you need only cast one spell and I will come to your aid again. I am also going to teach Remus how to enter this portion of your mind when I return. I would not be able to do it if you weren't already mostly asleep. I weaved myself into your consciousness by using a spell which people can use to weave themselves into someone's dream. I have to go as this is an incredibly dangerous connection. Remember, cast once and someone will come." _

_"I don't believe you," Harry whispered. "You're nothing more than a Death Eater and you made Sirius so ashamed to be your brother. I hate you and your whole family." The boy fell on guard. "If he hadn't hated his house so much he might have been happier before…I…"_ I caused his death.

_"You- no, you don't want to hear this, you want to wallow in your self-pity." _

_"Shut up!"_

_"It's alright, everyone deserves it sometimes."_

_"I'm not wallowing in anything," he yelled, angrily. He was incredulous that he was having this discussion. _

_The man suddenly closed his eyes and as Harry watched, faded out of existence like a ghost. As soon as he was alone, Harry collapsed. _

_Voldemort wanted him to be just like him. _

_He could. _

_But he wouldn't. _


End file.
